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The day fades quietly
now only a murky silhouette submerged in evening waters.
Movement becoming slow and graceful
sounds crisp as if originating not from without but from within.
Creatures of the day now in slumber
creatures of the night awaken to their morning.
Tiny bright streaks of green dart about
as fireflies paint their joy against a blackening canvas.
Peepers clamor their glee and by their familiar disturbance
usher children into sleep.
Clouds which so short a time ago obstructed view of the sky
now set it alive by their icy brilliant reflection of the moon
shouting its glory to all who brave the tranquility of stolen hours to witness.
Approaching rain announces its coming on the air
enshrouding its listeners
now a brotherhood united by expectancy.
This audience is not perturbed by the solemn spectacle of falling black drops.
Why so so many retire for these hours
choosing an obvious over a fathomless beauty?
The answer is simple:
What better place to enter into dreaming than this?

by Marjorie Hart

Other poems of MARJORIE HART (1)

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