In Still the Night
In still the night, the beaks slumber.
The weary wings, of great number,
In lightest twitch, upon the dark
Etching on oak, wait for dawn’s hark.
In common sleep - sigh encumber.
The scented air, lilacs cumber
With bluebird-lull, silent slumber.
No need to coax the dormant bark,
In still the night.
Quickly, stars found in low number.
Red guitar pick awakes slumber.
Birds nestle under branches’ ark.
A cloudy mist sets off a spark.
Storm’s cajole - raindrops outnumber,
In still the night.
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