Dusk
The day breathes her last sigh
The silver scythe of the moon
hangs in the autumn sky
the trees stand up in silhouette
the day breathes her last sigh.
Then the dusk with her brush
paints hues on the horizon
blushing pink and in a wink
the nighttime is arriving.
I’m lost for words and the birds
have disappeared from sight
consumed by dark blue shadows
the halos of the night.
Inside my mind I search to find
feelings that fall like snow
chilled by autumns autographs
tied neatly in a bow.
The haunting quiet of the night
turns daydreams into dark
piercing pervading paradigms
the night’s dusky trademark.
Dusk turns into darkness
and as the night descends
a new quietness prevails
as the last light blends.
Into the dusky vales
the hills and far beyond
in the hush of the dusk
nature is enshrined.
©
David Rudder
17th May 2020
Thanks for reading.
