TO break the stillness of the hour
There is no sound, no voice, no stir;
Only the croak of frogs,—the whirr
Of crickets hidden in leaf and flower.
...
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Peace with the Shadows! Peace to all Who work and weep, who pray and wait; Till we and thou are one with Fate, And on us too, the Night shall fall! thank you
Beautiful poem... 'Spring from a mass of eucalypt' - definitely from Australia or New Zealand - lands where speech itself is artform. So lovely here in this little poem about loss and love.