At the end of the day
when the hues of night
are seen by lovers
as they stroll to their favourite rendezvous,
where the moonbeams dance
across the waters of a lazy river
and fireflies court in twos.
The chorus of the crickets
fills the stilled night air
as lovers gather in courting
here, there and everywhere.
The night is filled with whispers
of words not to be overheard
on a staggered summer evening
in a time not far away.
2 March 2009
David Harris
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-end-of-the-day-14/
