TWILIGHT’S SONG

The golden sun is slipping down
in changing colours to the ground,
all is peaceful, all is still
as slanting rays shoot down the hill.

At feeders birds are making use
of seed and bath, their noise profuse,
the blue jay screams its shrill dominion
over all the backyard kingdom.

The crescent moon, so cold, aloof
suspended high in heaven’s roof,
and the soulful willow’s tresses
turn yellow as the fall progresses.

A near by dog, his yelping sends
a greeting to his canine friends,
and suddenly there’s ne’er a breeze
to rustle multi coloured leaves.

At last the clouds o’er western sky
beauty blushing treat the eye,
all babes within their beds belong
harken to sweet Twilight’s Song.


Margaret Rose Larrivee
Oct. 29, 1995