And is that it? No fanfare, no shouting, Ceremony? No definitiveness yet. There’s still some hesitation to be too sure. The blue hour suffuses the evening With its fragile light. A caress on the fading day - Blue to the east, pink to the west - A blessing begging hoping For the next day. Sometimes - well, actually always, Sooner or later - That blue hour comes true, When the horizon slips up past that pink And the blue is deeper and deeper.