Don’t know why there no sun up in the sky, stormy weather.
Since my man and I ain’t together, keeps rainin all the time.
Life is time, the time. So weary all the time.
When he went away the blues walked in and met me.
The last quarter moon of the dying year,
Pendant behind a naked cottonwood tree
On a frosty, dawning morning
With the back of her silver head
Turned to the waking sun.
Quiet... THE LAST QUARTER MOON OF THE DYING YEAR by Jonathan Henderson Brooks.
