Above the horizon flares
the golden dragon Evening.
And tiredly the day is dying,
dissolving in pale fire ...

Calmly the dragon spreads
the translucent arc of his wings.
His rider, guiding him
is black-haired Yearning.

In his wake worlds are sinking
behind the hills, in unknown distances
beyond time, beyond memory, disappearing forever.
Only wistfulness remains.

From behind the horizon
a persistent flickering voice is calling me.
Mysteriously night is arising around me.
So, inexorably, evening died.

Crystal 2001

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