Day Is Done

The evening sun hangs low, in the distant reddened sky,
While dusk moves in stealthily, from the east.
The whip-poor-will is singing her mournful song,
As the labors of daylight soon cease.

The darkened silhouettes of the mountains so tall,
Rest snuggly against the deep, twilight sky.
The stars all shimmer like diamonds, so rare,
As the full moon shines its bright, silvery light.

Another fine day has come and now gone,
Like a dusty traveler who is weary from the road,
Who has travelled long, to some faraway land
And then rested, after lightening his load.

Velvety quiet has finally, gently settled in,
Like some silent guest, who is completely at peace.
It’s a recipe that beckons me somehow, to peaceful, restful, much needed sleep,
As a distant, lonely coyote is heard, calling for a friend.

Nelda Johnson
Copyright 2020