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Final Hours

We cannot rest until it’s gone

Drink the juice of fading light and

Squeeze out each last drop

Of languid lavender

From the lazy horizon

And watch the day burn down

To furrows frowning

Under the lingering glare that

Finds a hidden meadow whilst

Across the quadrants shadows cast

In vain to bind their shifting mass

 

We always leave too soon.

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All works © Richard Maskery

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