The Lonely Spirit

As sun sinks low o’er amber fields

That harvests great will yield,

And paints with flame the forests drear

In gayest colors clear;

With even’s chilling breath, there hints

A sound, a shade, a glimpse,

A thing not quite of earthly home

That in the shadows roams.

They say the mortal curtain wanes

As day begins to fade,

And with the twilight breezes comes

A spirit from beyond

At forest’s edge, to watch and wait,

And gaze on every face.

He seeks the soul of one now gone,

Who he in life loved long.

So with the lengthening of the night,

This lovelorn spirit might

Perchance, one day reunion grasp,

And rest in peace at last.