At night. (Poem)


When the evening closes its eyes

thrusting wearied souls into slumbering beds

blankets heaped and folded 

mending the creases of the day…

once again. 

Then as the symphonic crickets begin

and the bull frogs belching out another croak

take silence by the horns 

and speak deep into the night…

there is where we find this peace, 

when our efforts and our workings cease

we find this quiet solemn release.

In the night, blanketed in black

these stars, the lonely sojourners 

appear once again to welcome us back.

And we find our rest…but sometimes

true rest is in our finding…


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