Sunday, August 26, 2012

Without a Word




When midnight’s sky is somber; bare
When summer’s good-by fills the air
When the limp shroud of yesterday
Drifts like a cloud, far and away
When the breeze dies and all is still
Save for the sighs as willows will
When scent of rain and memories
Drip from the raven-colored trees
And naught but cricket-song is heard
The silence speaks without a word


Janet~

1 comment:

  1. Oh my... I was living in your poem just the other night, as midnight drew near and the current storm of the summer banged and hammered as someone up there kept turning on and off its lamps and headlights.

    And then silence.

    Loved that phrase 'raven-colored trees'...

    It was a lovely moment of peace in the midst of the storm as I snuggled in under the covers (light ones), feeling utterly safe despite the rage outside.



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