As the dead sun slowly sail to the west,
Darkness enthrones, and cast mourning upon the earth's crust.
Cold silence quietly on land descends,
And nocturnal poets from darkness deep ascend.
On the palm trees, the owls find their shelter
From the heart of the stone darkness they utter Their dirges to the buried queen.
Beneath the shrubs, the cricket are seen,
Chirping their configured elegies with their acrimony in display.
In a thousand lines they kiss goodbye to the queen of the day.