Sunsets

A Shakespearean sonnet on one man's dismal take on sunsets.

I watch the shifting shadows rise with dread,
And ponder as the moths dart to and fro,
Why night must always rear its heartless head,
And let the sun retreat, a vanquished foe.

The setting sun has perished in the vale,
While tree frogs sing the serenade of night.
Beneath a rising moon, a breathless pale,
The shadows weigh me down with no respite.

But even so, my heart shall always try;
For with the dying sun a promise lives,
That even though our hope today might die,
I soon shall feel the warmth a sunrise gives.

So whether this be true or vengeful lie,
With baited breath, I watch the eastern sky.