I love this time as evening falls and joy awaits the dark
As shadows lenghthed, dissappear and daylight leaves it's mark
When creatures of the night shake off the crusting of the day
And oil up their instruments as they prepare to play

An overture to darkness, a symphony of night
The cricketters' concerto to the moons accompanying light
With staccato variations from the galaxies beyond
Punctuating perfect movements as the waving of a wand

And with the idling stillness as the city becomes still
Crowded madness takes on comfort as the vision fades to nil
In preparation for tomorrow rest becomes the form
And sight gives way to hearing as the major sensual norm

But what we hear in evening isn't always what we choose
Memories of daytimes plight become our chosen muse
And rest becomes a flashing tube with images of haste
And nature's chorussed voicings are shut out and laid to waste

Except to those attuned to melody,   practiced in their craft
Whos senses crave discernment or an aromatic draught
From earth's stockade of entertainment, evening's minstrels song
The chorus of etertity from nature's gifted throng

Ian Kerridge  1995               back to Poetry Index