The woods draw closer in the evenings.
Falling light, falling dark, falling as
Fresh cut hay, and up looms the woodline,
Voluminous in green shadow evermore.
During my day it lays low, lingering
Saying nothing save a quiet sigh
As if leafed trees wonder when day
Will reach its lonely twilight end.
But oh, when night falls, falling away,
As I did say, these woods build their
Horrors in darkened moans, hollow hoots,
Gurgles of green gloam along the row.
Shadows unfurl like long fingers,
Even sailors would fear, as if sails
Suddenly silent spied the black clouds
Angrily ominous in distant dusky rows.
Before evening I work there easily,
The wooded thickets resting quiet,
Tall and creaking in their shoes,
Leaning upon the other, as dull muses.
But as the deepening gloom sobers,
Showing labors now over, I dare not
Turn away from their ominous grasp
And step away slowly for the open road.
Bright lights,loudly passing fast,
Remind me of my lone figure but
Communion shouts, that song sung
In white flashes, my salvation.
In the glowing roar the woods seem
To recoil, the fangs and talons
Pause, their long jaws snap empty
And my keeping is safe till morning
And dawn’s docile break.