Evening Lands

By John Herlihy

The twilight steals upon us in rumors and whispers,

The silence broken by the coming of evening hush.

The architecture of the moon varies as twin sisters,

The sky itself is hesitant as it glows a maiden blush.

The crescent moon pale and grim, autumn’s sickle,

Will lift its weary head and half open its sleepy eye.

The stately barque waxes and wanes always fickle,

Listen and hear the mute dummy utter a faint sigh.

The cloven face of the world gives way to darkness,

To blend as a thief into the drape of time’s eternity.

Fragile stars as star dust in this lake of blackness,

Who needs convincing of such peace and serenity.

The infinity of deep space now descends, unfurled,

To cast in shadows the evening lands of the world.