Evening song

Children's voices took away
the sun I was looking at.
All the summer light
made me long for a dream.

The clock, on the white wall,
tells how the afternoon passes.
A soft wind slackens
along the evening paths.

Perhaps tomorrow will come
still slow hours
of light for the eyes
of this eager look.

But now it is night;
I am lonely
in the house of the dead
which only I remember.