Written On A Summer Evening

this melancholy dusk as the rain falls into night ever so softly the breath of a dying woman this bonechilling wind trails the air the darkened roofs of the malay houses add a solemnness to the place filled with flowers fruit trees, wild trees a koranic verse is heard and another cool breeze blows the leaves rustle the way a man shivers big leaves, small leaves twirl in succession a twist dance so cold the night the old woman sick bedridden woman so long she feels she has been ill a feeble mind that could not make out dawn from dusk the old woman her sigh soft as the wind bids her quiet farewell around her grandchildren run impervious to her pain the leaves rustle again the children's cry divides her and the world so long ago when she was a child herself all seems a game, a film heartfelt images of her own life run through her mind long lost husband, children, grandchildren the breeze blows again she feels its coldness and slowly, slowly, surely she feels herself inching away from the alien surroundings slowly and slowly death to her has become something to be embraced she takes another weak look at the children rewritten from: this melancholy evening as the rain falls into night ever so softly the breath of a dying woman and as it stops this bonechilling wind trails the air the darkened roofs of malay houses add a solemn atmosphere to the place filled with trees, fruit trees, garden trees and wild trees a koranic verse is heard and another cool breeze blows a trail of ruslte the trees waves, big leaves, small leaves so cold the night an old woman old sick bedridden woman so long she feels she has been ill a feeble mind trailing the world the old woman bids farewell to the world her sigh soft as the wind a solemness pervades her room as grandchildren run around impervious to her pain the leaves rustle again the children's cry divides her and the world so long ago when she was a child herself all seems like a game, a film now the breeze blows she feels its coldness and slowly, slowly, surely she feels herself inching away from the alien surroundings slowly and slowly death to her has become something to be embraced she takes another weak look at the children inspired by Written on a Summer Evening Written on a Summer Evening The church bells toll a melancholy round, Calling the people to some other prayers, Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares, More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound. Surely the mind of man is closely bound In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs, And converse high of those with glory crowned. Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp, A chill as from a tomb, did I not know That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, - That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow, And many glories of immortal stamp.