Movement of the Sun

the melancholy days full
tumbling through the Sandymount Strand;
whispering the wind that fears the sky:
  mourning lustre of days hence.
the wind is he who waits
in throughout the Sky;
downing golden
shields the heaven

whirling around the large strand,
past the old days brook,
amber looks, and sees:
  memories affinity.

The End

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