Soon To Sleep
The early mist hung heavy on the fen,
its cold dampness filming my face with dew.
A herd of legless cows slow floated by,
attended by the churr of scalding wren.
Overhead, a silent owl, hunting, flew;
All while, the dog pressed closely to my thigh.
The sun had yet to make its presence known
pre-dawn, a spell for shadowless vague forms
to lurk beyond the edge of ancient wood.
Daylight would soon appear, the moon dethrone;
with victory, the world about transforms.
I do not wish this dawn, although I should.
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