All of a sudden, strangely, our days become shorter;
Our dearest friend departs on a mysterious journey
Never to write or call again;
A spreading shadow brushes the moonlit hillside;
The silver trees turn to pewter, then to lead.
Copyright © 2009 by Cornel Adam Lengyel. All rights reserved.From Stop, I Told The Sun, The Mandrake Press.Reprinted by Verse Weekly with permission.
