Day After the Carnival

The wind died at the dawn. Two shafts of light like half-shamed roisterers, up all night, careened across the hills, then staggered down to slip among the houses into town. The streets were gray and wet; the trees were torn. Where was the jeweled crown the world had worn the night before? Gone with the daylight, gone! Like last night's carousel, packed and moved on! Nothing was the same as in the dark - Signs dripped, unclaimed, on fences of the park, littered the road, choked the sagging gate. Only a dog dined, near, from a paper plate! Romance, expended, also had expired. The sun recoiled and shuddered, and retired.