The sun is softly setting: red and orange streaks the sky,
and swifts scream imprecations as on flashing wings they fly.
The gentle evening deepens, and the dew forms on the grass,
rooks jostle in the treetops as the hours of daylight pass.
I’ll take some twilight moments, here within these ivied gates,
to sit in contemplation, as the world draws breath and waits,
and one by one across the sky the first pale stars appear,
and hunting owls begin to call, and air is fresh and clear.
The scent of honeysuckle borne upon the faintest breeze
conveys both hope and promise - there’ll be other days like these.
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