Eventide
There is a small piece of the world
The color of mother of pearl
As soft as the smooth inner shell
Where the humblest hermits dwell
And the sound of the blood’s rush and the roar
Is the calm, sleepy shush of the shore
And the faint scent of sagebrush in bloom
Spans both cool beach and hot desert dunes
And the tumbleweeds, driftwood and gloam
On the eventide, they always come home
And the stars in the sky and the stars in the sea
On the eventide, they come home to me.
Copyright © Ina Goodling | Year Posted 2023
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