Evening Song
I love a string of Garden lights in summer, Their winking bulbs round as A firefly’s bottom. I imagine the whole of night Gathering for the party— The fat raccoons rolling out of trees In readiness, The bats swooping playfully Over the marsh, While the old owl hoots and hollers His constant invitation. Here there is no small talk, Or the milk-glass-cold of strangers, Only the cricket’s evening song Giving thanks For the velvet, Starless sky.


Felt this - saw it - heard it - smelled it. You have a way of writing that awakens the senses. Nice job!