The sunlight falls
On Whitehall’s walls.
Some regret the sunset.
But all fires die.
And I delight
In morning light
And Kipling who foresaw
Empire might not endure
The sunlight falls
On Whitehall’s walls.
Some regret the sunset.
But all fires die.
And I delight
In morning light
And Kipling who foresaw
Empire might not endure
This sunlight
On the wall.
The clock’s
Quiet tick tock.
This birdcall.
My dog on this matt.
I know that
All delight ends in night.
The sunlight dances
Through windblown branches
On a late December day.
Let us stay,
And smile while we may.
The sunlight on my wall
Does bring thoughts of spring
Into my mind.
Yet I hear no birdcall.
The poet’s mind
Has both dark and light.
But does not the sunlight
Follow the night?
The sun shines on my study wall.
I recall many a trip and fall.
Enjoy the sun’s light
‘Ere the ever-present night,
Covers all your delight