Form: Blank Pentameter
Now milking time is over evening falls
And fields of silence greet the dim twilight
Into the coolness shadows move around
To wait for whispers of moonlit voices
That call the songs of farmyard soil and life
To sing of peace as the night now descends
And through the dusk orange light shines through glass
The say is over and all rest at last.
©JGFarmer2020
A Garret Poet 