Walking Into The Night Poem by David Taylor

The shadows arose from under the spreading trees
ran across the fields, crept up hedgerows with ease
and lengthened their stride to the ridge of the hill
meeting crimson in the sky as if it bled on the blueness
where it touched the hard and darkened frill
of a tree laced horizon lying, waiting, strangely still.

Orange tinted clouds sped past, holding hands it seemed
as they danced to the music of the setting sun's scene.
A finale to herald darkness creeping, light receding
leaving only blackness tinged with a silver mooness
mingled with the grey-green grass' seaness.

Then the creatures of the night arose,
each with two points so bright
shining, gleaming, moving, stealing
through the shifting shadows
of the all embracing night
and flashing in and out of sight:

The wind sped past grasping, feeling
all that lay within its path
filled with shrill sounds of night.
How the branches creaked and snapped
and how the rushes swayed
on the rippled silver water, grey
and strangely sliding shapes were made
upon that dark and lonely unlit path.