Evening
Dec 19th, 2009 | By W.B. Burkholder | Category: Poetry | 238 viewsDusk is gone and the midnight hour beckons,
when the flowers sleep
And night’s silken dew
dances across sleeping green pearls,
where the willow hangs her tired head,
and sleeps under twinkling’s of twilight dreaming.
When the nightingale
serenades the moon cast meadows,
that place of evening’s repose.
When all is quiet
when all is dark
when all the earth rests
replenishing,
Waiting for the rise of Sun
waiting for the moment
of my awakening.
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About W.B. Burkholder: Content Editor, Troubadour 21 - Bill is a Poet, Author, Digital photographer. You can find his work at Nirvanasgate |
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