Night-Thief Poem by C Richard Miles
Night-Thief
The sun has slipped its grip
Upon the heavy evening;
Too soon that which
Was boldly polychromatic
Will be rendered grayscale
As the sneak-thief, darkness,
Extends nicotine-stained fingers
To grasp ever tighter
The last few red coppers of sunset
And unkind night pickpockets
Precious gold of the day.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: sunset
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8/28/2026 3:41:07 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
