Twilight Poem by David Mitchell

The twilight hour arrives, the sun
Has sunk beneath the skies;
The birds now sing their merry song
And soon their music dies.

The clouds in heaven are inky blue
And float and hover still,
And streaks of colour of the sun
Remain above the hill.

I lean over my window ledge
And feel the chilly breeze;
As the vast sky becomes so dim
That black are the green trees.

This is the day the Lord has made;
It dwindles to its end;
The heavens proclaim His glory now,
Our Master and our Friend.

I gaze in wonder at His works;
The birds that sang now cease;
I wish the world might always know
This welcome tranquil peace.