Sun long gone soon after four

Trees against the sky, no more

With leaves, they claw the dimming cloud

All still, the noise, all motionless

Almost the very earth is bowed

Westward and high one daughter flies

Into New York, the other starts 

By motor from the west, departs

For home under a darkening sky

Whilst I, sat till, can eulogise

On what a lucky Dad am I