At night in the shadow of this half-lit blue globe,
Comes the quiet and the calm end of day.
As if cloaked in a comforting, silencing robe,
It's a world which has much less to say.

All daytime's bright life and its purpose of being,
Which seems as if never could stop.
Halts its thinking, and feeling, its listening and seeing,
A closed sign now hangs in its shop.

The sun at its setting takes its life force elsewhere,
Gone the spotlight, the stage and its players.
Leaving us into the darkness to stare,
Making confident beings now shy prayers.

But even as the blackness denies us light's hope,
That the sun will make good its return.
Night knows at its end as through space light we grope,
Soon again sun's bright candle will burn.

This process foretells of our life at its end,
When all that we've been ebbs and ceases.
But knowing that night on new days can depend,
Whilst our death from this schedule releases.