The shadows are dark,
A contrast to the moon's cold light.
What secrets hide within the darker darks
That go deeper than our sight?
The smell of the fallen leaves
And the fires that keep us from the cold;
The smell of wood smoke in the air
That make us think of things of old.
What did they do in those times that went before?
What songs did they sing?
What tales did they tell
Back in those times of yore?
Do the skies of evening that come so soon
Make you wonder and ponder
Of times gone by and the songs sung in an ancient tune?
Do they make you think of ancient rhymes
Does the smell of wood smoke bring up dreams
Of elder, ancient times?
The moon with her light
Makes the shadows seem to hold
Ancient mysteries in the night,
In the moonlight so cold.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 7:23 PM UTC
The shadows are dark,
A contrast to the moon's cold light.
What secrets hide within the darker darks
That go deeper than our sight?
The smell of the fallen leaves
And the fires that keep us from the cold;
The smell of wood smoke in the air
That make us think of things of old.
What did they do in those times that went before?
What songs did they sing?
What tales did they tell
Back in those times of yore?
Do the skies of evening that come so soon
Make you wonder and ponder
Of times gone by and the songs sung in an ancient tune?
Do they make you think of ancient rhymes
Does the smell of wood smoke bring up dreams
Of elder, ancient times?
The moon with her light
Makes the shadows seem to hold
Ancient mysteries in the night,
In the moonlight so cold.
Copyright 2010, William Michael Winegar
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