As the evening cools <br />and I go out to water the front garden <br />watched by the guys <br />who lounge outside the house opposite <br />as it opens for its illegal evening business, <br />looking at me as if I’m expressing <br />some unnamed insult by my presence <br />on their turf <br /> <br />I wonder if they are as awed as I <br />that as the evening light from the west <br />glows radiant, boundless, just as the sun disappears, <br />then slowly pales to dusk, <br />the reds and crimsons, scarlets, <br />magentas, madders, vermilions, rose, <br />infuse with an almost ultra-violet tinge, live new lives, <br />and glow with the passionate intensity of prayer <br />in their vibrant evensong as if they know <br />that colour can outsing <br />any works of man when lived <br />on petals that know only innocence<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0203-evensong/
