The Ends Of Day Poem by Paul C. Maybury Jr.

Quiet dawn and creeping moon
Dark lost birds and nestlings croon.
Shuffling sound of fuzz winged shapes
Blind eyes craned neck angled gapes.

Mothers fathers seeking worms
Gleaming slime in snail weaved forms.
Noses from small burrows poke
Rivers glide beneath gray smoke.

Pipeless Pan through forest glides
Traffic hornless swishing slides.
Silent sun awash in cloud
Dripping tree forms standing bowed.

Golden windows face the East
Squinting eyes leave faces creased.
Showers run and mirrors fog
Millions rise and feed the dog.

Unseen etheric sinuous waves
Twisted resisted becoming slaves.
Boxes boom and shake the air
Tight coils glow and dry wet hair.

Humans waking make their mark,
Noise and clamor break the dark.
Smaller creatures lose the fight,
And mourn the loss of silent night.

But there is an other where
And the sun is sinking there.
Western windows glow with gold
Quiet stalks through day grown old.

In the woods the shadows grow
In the sky the first stars show.
The fist of darkness slowly closes
The air is sweet with unseen roses.