Atalie Rachael writes

As The Afternoon Dies

As the afternoon dies,

so then do my eyes.

For even the young

Grow weary, friend.

Yet as the afternoon dies,

night comes by surprise

to tell us all:

Another time is at end

and the wild must be

put away.

Minus the sorrows

to be kept for another day.

Stores and shops

stood bravely to the dark,

and rolling skies

announce ‘tis blightful March.

All past is beyond

this very very hour,

so hush the laughs and the cries

as the afternoon dies.

 
 Going Home at Dusk -- John Atkinson Grimshaw