Father Ryan

Low in the west gleam after gleam
  Glowed faint and fainter, till the last
Made the dying day a living dream,
   To last as long as life shall last.

And in the arches of the trees
   The wild birds slept with folded wing;
And e'en the lips of the summer breeze
   That sang all day, had ceased to sing.

And all was silent, save the roll
   That rippled round the lilies' feet,
And sang,  while stillness grew more still
   To listen to the murmur sweet.

Abram Ryan

March 9, unable to get a photo to load. Hopefully issue will resolve.  My internet service in general today is unusually slow. Hard to work! Stress.