My season\'s sun has lost its zenith light
So swiftly blanched and paled by brighter suns
Like a wispy cloud has scudded out of sight
Usurped by time’s void with work undone
Note past deeds but sift loose, hate turns to stone
Not pain nor anger but love does attest
Your seas will follow you may sail for home
Full rapture yet awaits in final rest
Your work is done the mill can cease its pace
The grist is ready for the bread it makes
To nourish those that come to take the trace
Be proud in your repose that never wakes
The lantern burns until its oil is spent
To wink at time’s advance becomes lament