How black lies the land in evening,
darkness bleeding into the soil
as sun ebbs, painting the trees with
with ebon brush, as shadows coil
Day has not left the sky, but is
taking the light to put to bed
Fire burns the western horizon,
as if from a wound the sun bled
Transient clouds are on their way,
to gather themselves in a storm
to feed the land where crops will grow
to prepare fields for wheat and corn
Birds find their nests, cows munch their hay,
lights wink on in windows that glow,
as last bits of black fill in for
the light, keeping the stars in tow.
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Comments: 6
words a percussive bang
Tis why when you look around
near you is where I hang.
So good, Sherry.