Casement windows, open wide,
Summer evenings, quietly breathing,
Lingering notes of thrush?s song,
Roses resting, midst the thorns,
The only sound, should strangers pass,
Singing sythes, swish through the grass.
Sun?s last, long golden rays,
Filter softly thro? the trees,
As balls of fire, lost to sight,
Shadow?s, fingers precede the night.
Nodding flowers beside the path,
Now so glad the heat is past,
Tiny heads of different hues,
Cup their petals to sip the dew.
Graceful willows, stand and weep,
All the earth slips into sleep.
Neath her blanket, quiet and still,
Waits the morrow, and God?s will.
© Elizabeth Anderson 1976
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