Soon the light will splinter
As this side spins out of reach,
Tilting away, far from the sun:
When darkness can reenter,
There the righteous begin to preach,
Hoping once more that thy will be done.
I ask you my father, why
Stubborn shafts of light still burn,
Bending their way beneath the moon,
Where they come willfully to die,
To bring what none of us could earn,
Resting our souls, bringing brightness at noon?
Is it the sun come again,
To the place he can't forget,
Recalling a season long since past?
Have you come to undo what you can,
Finally, to feel some regret,
Ending these days, now the first shall be last?