The twilight hour arrives, the sun <br />Has sunk beneath the skies; <br />The birds now sing their merry song <br />And soon their music dies. <br /> <br />The clouds in heaven are inky blue <br />And float and hover still, <br />And streaks of colour of the sun <br />Remain above the hill. <br /> <br />I lean over my window ledge <br />And feel the chilly breeze; <br />As the vast sky becomes so dim <br />That black are the green trees. <br /> <br />This is the day the Lord has made; <br />It dwindles to its end; <br />The heavens proclaim His glory now, <br />Our Master and our Friend. <br /> <br />I gaze in wonder at His works; <br />The birds that sang now cease; <br />I wish the world might always know <br />This welcome tranquil peace.<br /><br />David Mitchell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/twilight-18/
