The...

... gathering.

In pairs they roost up high,
then lower, and lower,
an invisible hierarchy settling,
till the tall bare trees are cloaked
with silhouette leaves,
shadows of the lost green year.
Soon the kraa, kraa cries of greeting,
the rasp of conversations,
their soft, murmured consolations
turn to sudden silence, stillness
in the coming of the night.

© BTW 2009