And Now Something A Little Different

It must be the time of year that sets me longing for sun and large fields... This poem I wrote last December for Nana in memory of the Plains and Other Places from which she Hails.

In the blue arc of
A ceiling
That they call the
Summer sky,

The lark and
The raven sing
And through the gloaming
Fly.

In the evening when the
Bright star
Shines searing in
The West,

The jay and bluebird
Wing home swiftly
To each sticken nest.

And man and beast
Close eyes and lie
Upon their chosen beds,

And children dream the
Dreams of hope
Soaring in their heads.

Upon the daybreak's
First sharp rays
Cresting every
Slope,

The citizens of earth
Arise and
In the gold
They hope.

The lark replaces
Once again
The owl in
Daybreak's time,

The owl returns
Once again
To his
Mysterious clime.

And here again
The day's begun,
The moist of night
Healed once more,

The dark of
Profound still and depth
Bows to the crowned head of
The sun's glory.