Winter Evening

Winter Evening


Blurry clouds, hot with sleep,
Piling onto the ground,
A day’s golden, lofty, heap
Lies feathered and unwound.

Pale traces of spilt light
Shine on the stony sky,
Warming chilly folds of night,
Lingering where day lies.

Trembling, the grass grows dark,
Doors close on quiet homes,
Blades and a window mark,
Blind while the wild wind roams.

From the deepened shadow,
The twice rung voice of boys,
Still at play, sprinting low.
Unaware.