Evening

Sun-tipped mountains,
So beautiful to see.
With golden ruffles strewn about,
On field and tree.

Sunset in the western skies,
With bright and shafted rays.
Sinking down behind the hills,
In blackness...edged with greys.

Birds have settled for the night,
Perching on a limb.
Silence makes the shadows die,
And light is growing dim.

There's a coolness falling,
The air is but a breeze.
Tired people go on home,
To find a time for ease.

Sun-tipped mountains,
As day comes to a close.
Soft are the drapes of eventide,
As earth kneels in repose.


E.P. 1908 - 1989