#WritcoPoemPrompt34
At the moment before night,
At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun

The vibrate colors of the day,
begin to melt into shades of grey,
As drops of black drip and run,
the day has lost and so has the fun

The time we had dancing with laughter,
The times we cried devastated from disaster,
Ends as slowly as the close of each day,
Hues painted by the setting sun,
Erases our time with every,
Drop of black that drips and runs,

The life we lived here and after,
Gone forever, did it even really matter


© George Jodan