Night. The gentle hush on
Tiptoe, looking here...
Looking there...finding
Leaves on the ground
Which will be the coolness
Of dew in the morning.
Little creatures have gone
To bowers of grass under
Huge branches, blown
Down years before when
Night hosted a hurricane.
Nature's meticulous
Pruning. This night there
Will be nothing for the small
To fear. Quietness. Calm.
Night is getting the table
Of Morning dressed with
Elegant, silver, dew...for
Little things, birds, to sip.
Night cares for each, her own.
elysabeth faslund
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-the-elegant-lady/
