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)

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