Softly sweet, here the setting sun blushing stain
shimmering rivulets upon golden fields of grain,
her subsiding rays harmonize late hours dying art,
whilst we, life strolling free view its fiery heart,
oft blindfolded, pay but mute service to nature's charm,
weave vespers kaleidoscope, dulcet days soft sung balm,
focus keen our short hours, like as a sea spun wave,
she to the returning tide, we to the solitary grave,
leave our lofty schemes, wet eyed awash, a barren cry,
therefore neglect not, the hours that swiftly pass us by,
once its glory flown, e'er estranged from youth's green door,
flowerless, as the deserts, thirst stricken waterless floor,

Alas! life's fragile path, oft traversed sightless alone,
impotent to the difference twixt the neglected and the sown.