The Garden

Sitting alone on a summer eve,
In a garden, with a cooling breeze,
The sun going down in a golden glow,
The sound of machines in the fields as they mow,
One smells the flowers and the new cut grass
The birds in the air, as to roost they pass.

Like messengers from some far-off land,
Oh life feels good, in fact its grand,
The flowers with their nodding heads,
Will soon be asleep in well kept beds,
The dew it will be falling soon,
And up will come the harvest moon.

All will be still, as still as the night,
As the garden glows in the moons bright light,
How calm and silent it all seems,
As one looks through, the moonlight beams,
But now there comes the evening chill,
And leaning on the window sill.

One shivers and decides its time,
To go indoors, the stairs to climb,
And gaze from window at the sight.
Of Earth retiring for the night.

by Basil Thorne

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