Dusk

counterpoint to SunWork

The sun goes down
Without a sound.
Sweet Nature holds her breath

Cold clammy cloud
A dank dark shroud
Prepares to hide the death

Days warmth now flees
Through black’ning leaves
Hearth huddling folk draw near

Dead branches scratch
Sharp briars catch
More fuel for primal fear

The moon creeps by
In pitch-black skies
A demon lamp on high

Wind wolves harsh howl
Cloud faces scowl
Gale whipped bat leaves flit by

Farm dogs call
While dead men crawl
Stark evil deeds are done

Hag witches dance,
Wild devils prance
Unhinder’d by the sun

Mac Logan
©