whose leaves rustle lightly to the left and the right
the sound of the wind passing through your boughs
rests me assured the nights is all yours
to the light as it fades beyond my horizon
that glows soft and bright like a new cut diamond
where shapes and forms of the flying things
flutter on by, beating their wings
the sounds of the scurrying, finding, and waiting,
in shadows until the silence, abating,
is theirs at last to do as they please
to hunt and to frolic all around those trees
at last when it is my turn to rest
No comments:
Post a Comment