A seclusion moon splits between clouds,
sheading onto flat fields, fence posts
and tombstones. A feather soft wind song
plays the leaves. Birds cease their inflight
bickering. Stars reflect around the edges
of sleeping lily pads. A prevailing mist
covers everything like gauze, draping over
stonewalls and stiff brush topped ferns.
The echo of an owl breeches the air, like
thunder without warning; it pulls at the roots
of courage. I am a beggar to return home
where a fireplace waits for my cold hands.
Night dismisses fear without challenge.
Standing alone, it conquers the land.
Roger Singer 
lovely poem
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