“Sleep,” Ensign, Jan. 1971, 69
Sleep comes as night must come.
The almond gleam of light in the willows
Slips east to meet the subtle billows
Of darkness and the hum
Of smalling wings, as if God’s tallows,
Burning low, flicker out in the hallows
Of holy Christendom.
It smooths a cape of heavy green
Across the silken sheen
Of a day that slowly disappears,
Dimming under the spears
Of glory from a drowsy sun
That gilds the west, then naps, undone.