Conjunction
In the late twilight,
when the last bird call is fading.
When the last rodent scuttles
to it's nest.
When the last spider
has crawled into it's crevice.
When the pointed reflections
of reed grass blades,
are moon shone silvery.
And appear as
hung polished swords,
under the inky
surface of the still
chilling pond.
And the flickering space station
slides beneath Venus,
in the dusty blue velvet sky.
I wonder what brought us together?
And I wonder why?
Copyright © David Hazell | Year Posted 2017
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