Thursday, April 5, 2012

A Rural Eventide

The compass winds hush the land and whistle in the vale
Roses lament as petals tent, and Pleiades sets its sails
The fields sleep-talk; the moon ghost-walks
Its glow is wan and pale

Ravens cry their lullabye, and owls their morning song
The hours creep as daylight sleeps, and eventide grows strong.
Stars breathe bright like twilight kites
Before the slumbering throng

Bracken twists o'er the creek; it haunts upon the stream
Ivy twirls and ferns refurl their echo-whispered dreams
The clouds sky-scrape, veil, and drape
An ochre-violet cream

The country church stands sentinel, silent hangs the bell
Gravestones old and concrete-cold, escape night's ubiquitous spell
The shadow-fog seeps, ancient secrets it keeps
Hoarding to one day retell