Friday, August 24, 2012

Of the Sun

Pleasant the days of summer,
Peak of life ever young,
Away the doubts of long shadows,
Driven to their holes.

Cast the gilded evening,
Drape them in silken gold,
A common hue,
Children of the sun.

A fire does not die,
Though winter creep with cold,
Was ever man a thing,
But a shroud around the soul?

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