SUNSET IN THE FENS

 

I never tire of our sunsets over the fens.

Unlike in a landscape of hills and mountains,

light lingers as if it does not wish to leave us,

until it finally disappears below the earth’s curvature.

 

A time of day when life must ease its pace,

when darkness fills that bright-lit space;

the fading sun serenely makes retreat

when day’s sounds cease and night calls beat.

 

He seems to pause as if he will not leave

this earth he’s warmed, and life he has conceived.

For one brief instant earth and time do not exist:

that moment when the sun and moon have kissed.

 

Birds fold tired wings and roost in branches high;

butterflies rest, as cattle, sheep and horses lie,

nocturnal creatures stir for night-time chores,

to prowl and hunt and feed by nature’s laws.

 

Proudly the sun reflects its image on the moon,

emblazing stars and galaxies, solitary and strewn.

We trust that this immortal sphere will never wane,

and know for certain it will rise again.

 

The sun has not deserted us, but only slipped away,

to greet us in the morning, bringing forth another day,

a spectacle on earth that even now holds me in awe,

outside man’s jurisdiction, yet under someone’s law.