Francesca Burkett
Across the gleaming fields of hay,
behind the old stone fences,
the sunlight with the close of day
fades down among the bushes.
The maples shed their golden leaves,
which twirl softly to the earth,
while flocks of birds fly through the trees,
gathering without ne’er a sound.
The distant hills glow brilliant hues
as sunset drapes upon them.
But shadows shroud the twisted yews,
as darkness creeps upon them.
Up from the shadowed, distant hills,
the moon begins to rise.
And through the darkened, evening sky,
the stars begin to shine.
The moonbeams gleam upon the lake,
and the rushes swish and sway.
Scarce a creature is awake
as light departs with close of day.