A March Night In The Village
The Harvest moon in a sky of stars is looking full and bright
Above the rural Village in the stillness of the night
The streets are quite deserted there's not a soul in sight
And small grey moths are circling around the lamp of the street light.
The singing of the crickets the only natural sound one hear
Perhaps they serenade a mate 'tis their breeding time of year
In walls and shady places whilst others sleep they sing
The workings of Mother Nature is an amazing thing.
The Village quiet as usual from time to time a few cars and trucks pass up and down
To the road to the highway to a far bigger town
The hoarse cries of the male brush tail possums can be heard on the gum trees
And the familiar calls of the boobook owl is carrying in the breeze.
A March night in the Village the silence is profound
The breeding crickets chirping not a human soul around
Of such rural tranquility a poet would surely write
A poem at poetry readings he or she would recite.