At Close Of Day Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

At close of day when all the hubbub stops
The wearied body bent with work of day
Gazes
Gazes at red dusk, wills it to stay
My eyes pined them but not for
Grief
But for tiredness
On the steep steeple pointed
The weather-vane turns, turns, turns
Though there little wind seeps
Through the boughs peopled with
Their inhabitants.
Of wine I fill a glass and sip
Sip
Sip slowly
And the stars one by one as heaven-hoary
Ghosts and skeletons and shrouds
Light and white light of moon too
Stronger becomes with ticking of the time.