Dusk Poem by Barbara Clafton

Everwatchful, darkness lingers
waiting for the light
of each new day to appear.
Lazy, navy blue of night
lightens slowly
to a yellow crested morn.

Like ghosts,
the shrouded fog, it creeps
along the hedgerows
where it sleeps,
like silver winged shadows
until dawn.

A fireball, the sun,
will gently rise
tickling at the lashes
of your eyes,
until, at last
you can no longer keep
yourself
within night's realms of sleep.