When Dusk With Trembling Brush Did Paint Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

When dusk with trembling brush did paint
The grey embers of the mid-day sun with red
The yellow marigold started to bend its head

Its head the yellow marigold did bend
And slow, slow, slow in the quiet field
Where no one saw and no one roamed:
The yellow marigold slow bent its head.

And the from glooms behind
Came the first wafting breezes
Of welcome cool in the reclining day
The soft-reclining day in arms of the red dusk
Swooning into an endless night of drowsiness
Wherein it swallows in its humbled suffering.

And the yellow marigold bends its head, bends its head.