The Elk
The quiet gathers at
The edge of the shadows.
As the elk,
ghost
Across a black ribboned road
The still of the night
Repeats itself in
Stark trees lit by
A
starry sky.
The wind only sighs
Keeping the quiet of
The dark and the
Lateness of the hour
It is a watchful time
In the dead of the night
When souls
walk
And spirits gather
Beneath the sky
The wind does whisper
A day is dawning
The
quiet is ending
But the elk keep drifting on
Ever watchful ,ever silent
Keeping a
peace even in
The daylight hours
jlm (99)
