At the end of the day

Make some hay

As the sun shines

You say

Sitting by the bay

As sun goes down

At the end of the day

Thought of hay

Furthest from my mind

As the sun shines, and

A zephyr ruffles the waves

My mind drifts to

What lies behind

A dream perhaps, not

Of what was lost

But what is yet to come

I know in my heart

As the sun

Goes down the bay

Somewhere a new dawn

A new sunrise

And I am ready

Come what may

To face the world

At the end of the day

Sunset do not excite me anymore

Sunsets do not excite me anymore
As I sit by the sea looking over the horizon
Capturing the colorful hues most distant from my thoughts


Modern day electronic entrapments lying unused as
Creeping fingers of darkness ride the waves
Whitecaps no longer translucent
Ocean darkening does not reflect
Radiant colors of the sky subdued
The murmur of the gentle waves
Does not sing a song of rejuvenation
Melancholy reigns as darkness falls
Sunset is no longer a harbinger of night
To be followed by daybreak, as I
Hear the whisper of the hooded boatman
Ferrying the returning souls
It’s time to go home
Somewhere on the distant horizon
As the last ray of the setting sun
Slowly sinks into a bottomless pit
I see a beacon, a point of light
A flickering hope whispers
As the dark waves crash onto the shore
A tiny iridescence whispers in my ear
Somewhere it’s the beginning
It’s a new dawn
You have lost the path, but
The search is still on


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Four