Balls of beige, back-lit gold
By the sinking sun
Thistle-down born from spiny stalks
Now borne aloft upon
Meandering breezes of evening
Woven through with the song
Of bundles of feathers leaving
The radiant day now is done
In a purple distance
A montage of copses and hills
Surrendering to evening
And a stillness that fills
The upturned bowl of the heavens
With colours of tinted glass
Cobalt bronze and aquamarine
Now that the day must pass
Mossy walls sunk in shadow
Shelter the heathen sheep
The palette of the tableau
Is sunk into colours of sleep
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