November Dusk by Ethel Romig Fuller
All day long the clouds hung low
As if they were weighted down by snow.
There was no sound of beast or bird;
No crisp leaf, no cornstalk stirred.
Ruts and stubble were embossed,
Lichen-fashion, by hoarfrost.
As dusk closed in a little more
Dun than day had been before,
The west sky opened just a chink,
Releasing one wan streak of pink
Which radiated thru the gloom
Like candlelight in a shadowed room;
The flickered out. A lone dog's bark
Ushered in a starless night.
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