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Michael Edwards

NIGHT

NIGHT

By other than the practised mind

no words expressed, no epithet,

can best describe the hidden night

where Sirius casts his rays

and moonlight silvers flexing grass.

 

Where filtering light suggests the scene

contracting to the moulded hills

and wooded slopes where mighty oaks,

in slumberous strength and ivy coated,

stand against a lustrous moon.

 

Where just beyond untutored verges

saplings, brush and bramble jostle,

bound as one, denying passage

to all but timorous woodland creatures

nestling deep in safe repose.

 

Where murmurings of wavering reeds,

in conference with the night time breeze,

form dark unscripted boundaries

astride the lapping water’s edge

where flecks of white define its lie.

 

By other than the practised mind

no words expressed, no epithet,

can best describe the vista veiled,

the compass scored in monochrome

within the nights obscured embrace.

 

 

Michael Edwards © October 2015