Half until Close

Definite winds carry
the tired dreams of afternoon.

Quiet hilltops echo and
ring the town as it works.

Desperate fingers reach for
soft face of the sky,

angelic warmth to soothe
hearts worn by labour,

a yearning, later half-filled
by the drink of the moon.

The cold air blows through
with shivering night,

a sharp brush, clearing away
the tired dreams of afternoon.

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