The Last Good Day

The red sun is dull today: so leave here.
The trees are grim, their leaves are dark
And a weakening gust sighs through the dry rain;
I hear it gathering to a rushing dirge sent after me.
Already I can see the dark clouds on the horizon.
Towering burdens extinguish my vision all around -
Already I can hear the rumbling. The ground quakes beneath my feet.
My feeble limbs begin to fail and I am alone in my struggle.
The sun is setting on the horizon;
Already I hear the Pale Armies advancing.
Their ghostly arms hold scythes, their steps drum the dirt.
While your future days are bright with thousands of stars,
The time has come for me to breathe my last good day.
So leave here - and though my hands have grown no waves,
Though I have brightened no room, I ask you...remember me...
And, pray, let the kids enjoy their growing-games, for
With my dying words I may darken their morning too soon...
My good night only I will feel, under the eye of that grey moon.