ARCHWAY OF ROSES

The most gentle souls
Have flown away
Upon the wings
Of a dying day
The gentle quiet
Of moving clouds
Gone the bustle
Of daytime sounds.

The garden arch
Upon which roses cling
Claims the song
The last birds sing
The twilight grasps
The falling night
With softened fingers
In pure delight.

A darkening veil
To lay upon
The fading moments
Hours gone
Night time wraps
A warming shawl
About itself
To keep warm.