Dark, oh dark, each day is shrinking, the light turnsso soon, edging toward a brittle sundown. The land curls on itself, burrows down, clingsto what heat it can, knowing the cut of wind,This fading is no surprise. Every branchfrom fading to gone. And the lurking windcannot be trusted; it whips or declineswithout warning, in the shadows cold clingsto its cruel power, building toward sundown. It all moves fast, this slipping toward sundown.