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The Sun descends into the earth–into

the earth! Descends to night, invisible!

Is not! Is not unto our eyes. Unto

our eyes he is gone, irreversible.

And animals contain their course, and sleep

in peace beneath his absence. What they know

of day they have sown and they will not reap,

for into endless night they think to go.

Then wake they to the dawn, new creatures? Yes,

with memories of yesterday. The Sun

of last life is not anything the less

than what it now, so newly, has begun.

But first withdrew—descended—let us die—

into the earth—and let us live a lie.

~~~

I woke. I had my breakfast: eggs and toast,

I saw the Sun, and walked a mile out.

A mile back, and did what I loved most,

and wrote what I had seen out and about.

I took care of a thing or two at home,

made lush my living—made holy my house,

and made everything fit for all to roam,

from quickened man, to uninvited mouse.

Then to a friend wrote I. And many more

I prayed for. Their day is as good as mine.

I hope they know how much I so adore

their being in my tale. How much I pine

to know the day with them. But now I die,

as with the setting, dying Sun, I lie.