Twilight Rain
The silver sky gently mists,
shrouding trees, emerald dark,
with echoes of mystery.
Soft, beautiful and cold is the melody
the wind blows, far away
through branch and lilting bough.
All is quiet, with the deep-breathing silence
of cool, evening peace.
The air, fresh and cold, enveloping light with grey;
carrying with it the harmony of
crickets and birds. Keeping the ancient
twilight tryst they sing a little warmth amidst
the charcoal world, and a gust in the shielding leaves
speaks in barely a whisper:
beckoning…
While I lay, still as silence –
Fingers pressed upon the chilled glass,
the wind noiselessly billowing
the soft, pale curtains.
I reach for a cold, sad,
beautiful world -
until the rain begins to fall.
Alone, breathing slow and deep,
I smile.
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