(for Terry Pratchett)
Pull Down the Sun
Dance, dance; the world is spinning
In the ecliptic plane
And though it seems the dark is winning
You shall be home again.
Shadows gather, memories scatter
Headed for a Fall
The double helix is undone,
The world turns cold and small.
Sing, sing of twilight deep;
The wind has fallen still,
The world spins down to winter sleep,
There's frost upon the sill.
There is no shame in going home
When Time her summons sends;
Kings fall to dust, the bright blades rust
And every story ends.
Gaelsdottir, 2020
