Night-whisperer

The pink orb drops away, away

A killdeer trills its farewell lay

From meadow swathed in purple mist

Where wafts the scent of hay, dew-kissed

Softly the bluer ramparts lower

Closing the lids of child and flower

Folding to fast, eternal rest

Each moment cradled and caressed

As willow tree and zephyr sigh

A slow and sultry lullaby

Now thought grows long, tender and deep

Soon weariness will yield to sleep

As pliant hours pour their mien

In raven draught across the green

Over the crag and trampled grass

Night tips the darkness from its glass

And we borrow from wiser men

Words to sustain midnight’s mute pen

Straining to hear the words they speak

In whispered tears upon the cheek

© Janet Martin