Glosa Poem by ivor or ivor.e hogg

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
The lowing herd winds solely o’er the lea.
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way
and leaves the world to darkness and to me

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.
A hush descends upon the countryside,
now is the hour when owls come out to prey.
Like ghosts on silent feathered wings they glide

The lowing herds winds slowly oe’r the lea.
Quite soon they will be relieved of their distress.
The bursting udders emptied easily.
Their heightened pace betrays their eagerness.

The ploughman homewards plods his weary way.
He’s more than ready for his evening meal,
he and his horse have worked along hard day
and both were glad to hear the tocsin bell.

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
I wait and watch for the stars to appear
and marvel at their punctuality.
I wonder if they too some signal hear

Poeticpiers aka ivor