They say that sunsets are like fine wine.
I’ve never tasted fine wine.
I am not old enough.
I have drunk of an autumn evening
And found the heady sense of the divine:
Refreshment in the wind,
Austere mellowness in gold-laced branches,
Stillness in the teardrop Moon,
Silence in wings of birds.
Saying Goodnight.
This article appears in Suing Squires.