June's Last Dusk

The cold hands of night are grasping at the air,
Trying to take hold of it,
Slowly winning the fight,
As it always does.

It's darkness is creeping in,
So slowly,
And with such stealth,
You don't even relies that it is dark until you take a second look.

The birds are all singing their fair well parting songs,
Not only to the day, but to the Days of June
It is their last song to grace June till another year has past.