On a wild and dreary hill, <br />the sun still on the horizon, <br />a running flock of birds <br />swirled and gathered, home to roost. <br />Their bodies stark against the dusk of day, <br />curling, as one upward, <br />and in a flash drifted away <br />as shadows lost. <br />And the last of the sun, <br />shone through the coming rain <br />silently, to disappear ghost-like, <br />into another day, on another world, <br />million and millions of miles away.<br /><br />John Scully<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-day-is-put-away/
