When at last, tender diurnal light dies
And distorted, spectral shadows lengthen,
Steadily, a profound stillness arrives
Cloaked in a velvet gown. Song birds settle
In meagre nests of twigs and thistledown.
And fresh flowers close their drowsy petals.
One can only hear lullabies of sound.
It\'s a time of sweet repose so subtle,
Where in the wild woodland nooks and crannies,
Miniscule, surreal creatures gently stir,
In leafy murmurs of spring\'s healing breeze.
O they dart between bush and conifer.
Under a harvest of stars! Certain owls
And bats take self- assured flight on noiseless,
Beating wings. They\'re softly nurtured and crowned
By mysterious, moon-lit caresses.
My spellbound pen is inclined to transcribe
The deeper beauty of this potent night;
And the secret realms where dreams are woven;
Which our ordinary senses suspend.