It’s been a weary day, today, it has.
The hours—all worn out. The world—asleep.
It lingered just so long, then drifted past
The consciousness of daylight, frail and weak.
A day is life’s expanse, compacted tight
Into a four and twenty span—it’s born
As young and fresh as children, soft and bright.
It gains in vigor, rising with the morn
To fullest peak, at noontime, tall and strong.
And then, by afternoon, it starts to wane.
It yawns with such exertion, kept so long.
It hobbles into night, without complaint.
And lays itself to rest, in peace, to sleep.
It’s measure filled, the heaven’s rest to keep.