The skirt of evening falls
gently enfolding hills and dales
in purple haze; these are the days
where twilight wraps branches as they bow
and the flames of the setting sun
dive headfirst into the golden meadow.
The morrow waits just o’er the hill
with bated breath, beyond the heath,
and God keeps watch both day and night
to see His will be done.
©Denise G Allen, 27 September 2014 17:10