Who Tolls the Bell Calls the Tune


A fierce sun dipped down from the zenith. Headlong it dives beneath the waves.
I reluctant to see its back; feel the ache of it'��s loss.
Brown the spots of the incurable come to hand, quietly without haste I will succumb.
Forced to bend the cracking knee. I will go the way of all.
I plot and scheme to fill the life, but the spilled years do not feel the loss, or mourn their passing.
The light has fallen as it must; weariness eases the way.
Dawn and dew the twilight comes, the call unbidden must be met.
Vibrations weaken, another must pluck the string; ripples made anew.