An evening inked in purple , as wewalked
Through slow-hour summer by the still canal
Last bird calls hanging on the threads of light
Hushed cattle at the end of days long field
And on the dusk, the herons silent wing
Ghosted the waters breast to curve , and fade
Grey herald of the spell and rise of moon
To leave us without words, a dying dream
That summer which you did not live to see
We raised our glasses to you on the lawn
And saw the same wings beat across our sky
Fly past in salutation to the west
And onward , to the sunset of goodbye
Twilight came down , but with us still you fly
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
An evening inked in purple , as wewalked
Through slow-hour summer by the still canal
Last bird calls hanging on the threads of light
Hushed cattle at the end of days long field
And on the dusk, the herons silent wing
Ghosted the waters breast to curve , and fade
Grey herald of the spell and rise of moon
To leave us without words, a dying dream
That summer which you did not live to see
We raised our glasses to you on the lawn
And saw the same wings beat across our sky
Fly past in salutation to the west
And onward , to the sunset of goodbye
Twilight came down , but with us still you fly
Another old poem , written for a dear friend who left us much too young , much to soon...