In the half-light, in the evening In the time between light and darkness The day becomes a crawling shadow That withers like grass in the bright sunlight Morning sows the seeds, and the evening brings the harvest The Moon's sickle cuts the sky And the earth bows low before Crown of Light And my mind begins to reel And the stars begin their trembling And thus I ask myself, "Will not my feet stumble?" As I begin my journey Onward, shadow-ward, eveningward