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