Dusk To Dusk Poem by Malcolm Wheatman

In gathering twilight here sit you and I.
Insects hang on meditating air
And summer's peopled memories cloud the eye.
Eventually the sun
Has had enough of birdsong, sky
And dips into the hills. Then, as we turn to one
Another (for a moment at the most) ,
To exchange some inconsequential by-the-by,
It has slipped away: a day, a month; life. Who
Would not wish a minute back to lay the ghost
Raised by the deeds we did not do?