Across the meadows bells are ringing.
Overhead the birds are winging
homewards to their roosting place
As twilight falls, the hour of grace
which separates the day from night.
When darkness overcomes the light,
the western sky is tinged with red
The weary sun retires to bed
the sky takes on a darker hue
changing from ice to midnight blue.
Then one by one the stars appear
against the blue as beacons clear.
I sit and watch contentedly
as quietude envelopes me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.