Evening comes slowly creeping across the landscape.
Pines deep green in daylight turn black.
A child seen in silhouette on a tire swing as cicadas'sing.
You can drink in the heavy smell of the forest.
Dad stokes the evening fire; flames leap and logs groan and snap.
Darkness descends.
All becomes intimate, the world defined only by the glow of the fire's light.
Poke the fire.
Breathe slowly.
Listen to 10,000 crickets...and watch the Milky Way spin by.
A refined poetic imagination, Helen Osbourne. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Don't forget the s'mores! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! " ...the first published recipe for “some mores" was in a 1927 publication called Tramping and Trailing with the Girl Scouts." to MyPoemList i like s'mores and i love this poem. both are delicious. bri :)