Perfect Poetry

There is a certain time of night
Somewhere twixt twelve and two
When the pastureland is white
Gleaming with moonlit dew
When starlight fans a velvet sky
And silence cloaks the earth
As even lissome zephyrs die
Quelling their noontide mirth
When the pond is smooth as glass
Without the faintest brush
Or ripple of a breeze to pass
And mar its flawless hush
There is a certain time of night
Somewhere twixt twelve and three
Where heaven waits to softly write
Its perfect poetry

Janet~