Here lies my last self-spoken epithet:
I will keep time for idle sunsets, yet.
This life I’ve given love as I would get –
To keep my life of sunsets loving, yet.
Praying for nothing, only singing: Let
Me keep some time for silent sunsets, yet.
A time remembered one day to forget,
Yet I will keep some kindly sunsets yet.
For all too soon as every sun shall set
I will find time for finding sunsets yet,
And though it passes, never to regret
The idle sunsets ever passing yet.
This weekend has been one of the warmest and finest I have ever known: and just as every sunset though repeated is in truth unique, so every passing hour and day and year is unparalleled, perfect in itself. They pass and will never return, and this is a wondrous thing. Just like youth and beauty fade in the individual, but remain with us nonetheless.
Inspired by, amongst others, Dylan Thomas, Thom Gunn and Seamus Heaney, I’ve used liberal quantities of internal rhyme, repeated refrains and a bittersweet tone to paint my own picture of a sunset, not described by virtue of colour or warmth, but by its transience and its emotive effect.