The Passing Day Poem by David Harris

The soothing sounds
of Native American pipes
drift across the air
as if calling to their ancestors
to say that all is well.

Slowly as the light
descends into nights darkness
and the nocturnal creatures stir
from their waking beds
to greet the moonlight shadows.

As the midnight hour arrives
a quiet fall across everything
for a few moments
as if to bid farewell
to the passing day.


21 June 2014