Dusk In the Pines

A stillness in the darkened pines O’er the bluegrass No wind does wind No questions will it ask. From the meadows the dusk birds song Strikes an eerie chord Amongst floating needles green and long Drifting wearily skyward. Leaf litter on the stony grave Dishonoured ‘neath small and scurrying feet A name forgotten, perhaps fallen brave? Sent to with its maker meet. Why do shadows dance along the stream? When earthly light abhors the water? Perchance it be a fevered dream. Complete with dark and quiet laughter? The moon breaks clouded starlit skies Reflects its face upon the rain No wonder of its own demise When the dawn crack slays her gaze again.