In the deeping twilight two children came

To a stream bank shaded in summer's shadow.

The clouds of leaves over them lay low

And that day at end mingled waters

With others much the same.

Up alter branches of the stooping trees

They ascended to pluck sun's last fruit off rays

Of lazy light in the cirrus haze

That fell ripe into passing waters,

Swift as evenings leave.

That fruit a seed that sprang by rivulets,

A fresh sprout of youth that, blossoming, grew

Vivid and green.  In the heat anew

Life took hold with roots like their fingers

Intertwined at sunset.