As Evening Approaches
By George Freek

As the sun descends,

thoughts of dead friends

overtakes me.

A lawn of fresh grass

stretches like a Persian carpet

to meet the darkening sky,

but it’s trampled by the feet

of oblivious passers-by.

The afternoon passes,

as simply as the death

of a common housefly.

Yes, spring will return,

with its yellows,

browns and blues,

but at twenty-one

I thought much more of it,

than I do now,  

as I stare at seventy-two.