Melancholy Granted

Melancholy granted,
uncalled and ne’er a reason why –
comes at moment’s dusk like this,
from silent wood and throbbing sky.

As if it’s called from aging flesh,
greying beard and fading eye.
I feel it so wash o’er me,
that in return I grant a sigh –
to acknowledge day’s escaping,
to ponder on the dreams un-won,
to toast in silent reverie
the man I’ve so become.

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