Mountains cast their phantom shadows, while desert breezes sigh,
by Gloria Huntington
From a river, silvered by the moon, comes a coyote's mournful cry.
Bright stars that shine like diamonds, in a velvet summer sky,
The moon is at it's zenith, and night birds on the fly.
The sweet smell of the desert, wafts across the land.
The night birds sing their sonnets, as the owl conducts the band.
Like Angels on Heavenly Missions, like ghosts come in a dream,
They flit through starlit avenues, twixt hills, through soft moonbeams.
Light ripples on the water. Is this reality?
Or am I but a stranger, in a world of fantasy?
But, no, the sounds and sights are real, I shake off night-time's trance.
I see the gentle evening breeze, cause bush and grass to dance.
And I am a spectator, to these wondrous delights.
I pity folks who've never seen, God's desert summer nights.