So falls dusk upon the weary world, inevitable as death or the fall of empires too mighty to ever repeat the fate of that before, and that which comes after.
With stars lighting the sky as uncountable candles of Gods or lights of the dead, or hole within the heavens to a place where all is bright at all times, so goes the world into darkness incomplete.
To sleep within what shelters, between what walls they have, the people sleep alike in cave or hut, castle of palace with servants around, but in dreams all equal unlike the waking world.
And following the light so many chase the moon light moths to the greatest flame. Some by sail or foot, some by hopes alone, wishing simply for that dawn to return as it had before.
Another breeze of warming cool passes in the absence of the sun, and leaves behind a question. In wandering to the moon, what wonders of the dark lit world are missed?