And so the drawing of the night
climbed it’s sad chariot to sing
one more song to the raging flight
that soon will fold its wings and bring
all things to a final conclusion:
all is clarity or confusion.

Who am I too call for an extension
while all is known to all and signed,
why should I cry for comprehension
when all is written for the blind
and all is a matter of a brief care
in yesterdays fading tear.