The sunset

The sun set slowly
The grey dusts of time
Sink as the dark come
As the birds fly away

The winds become softer
It lets the moons sign
Come upon the clouds as a print
The smell of burning grass rent the air

The golden color of the wheat
Which stays when the sun shine
Turn grey as the day travel
The sights of men become dim

The clouds are quiet
The moist descend also
Evenings are solemn
As the airs go fresh

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at

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