The Trail

THE TRAILĀ  by Mary-Kathryn

Night is falling on an oak lined trail

Misty calling of a whippoorwill

Golden hour through limbs and leaves

Glowing, glimmering, shining eaves


Exchange the light for deepest blue

Turning black with speckled hue

Clouded grays and dots of white

Glittering, shimmering across the night


Timely emergence from the trees

That lined the trail and covered me

I emerge to see what’s evident, clear

Remembering, remembering every year


There’ve been no hopeful wishes, no ill regrets

Just beautiful promises made and kept

Thankful, grateful, as I think of you

Beneath this open heaven of blackish blue


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