Dusk will retreat on velvet feet
With darkness advancing.
Evening mist fills valleys and rills,
And swarming gnats are dancing.
The whispering breeze through shadowed trees
Meanders to and fro,
And last rays from the setting sun
Create a golden glow.
And down the lane, each window pane
For just a moment gleams,
Lights this old place, this old man’s face,
Shades of remembered dreams.
In them each day, he drifts away,
Lost in old days sublime.
So long ago, long, long ago…
Life in a gentler time.
He was born here, this farm so dear,
Full nine decades ago.
A gentle boy, his parents’ joy,
They loved to see him grow.
The years sped by–they seemed to fly.
Too soon he was a man.
And this good farm, his parents' charm,
With pride and skill he ran.
Their song was sung, they died too young,
And he was left alone.
And on a hill, a low green hill,
There is a mossy stone
Where they both rest, the hillside blest
With roses they loved so.
And he sees them, his mind sees them
As they were long ago.
Night shadows fill each vale and rill
With dreamtime advancing.
There’s now no breeze through shadowed trees,
And gnats cease their dancing.
Moonlight will win, night songs begin,
The old man is sleeping.
Dreams take him where? Not our affair.
He's safe in God's keeping.
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- Tags: Poetry