Across the last plains <br />under leaden skies, <br />the ground peat-brown beneath; <br />Turf cutters pausing to point <br />at the summers last black-breasted flight, <br />across the dark eddies and whirlpools, <br />the silver line of the river beneath; <br />Over the wild heathers of the stone hills <br />from the Cairns of the west <br />to the graves of the silent east. <br />A black sunset, the death of a new day remarked. <br /> <br />Shrill and defiant in calling <br />the passage of the long evening mourned. <br />The gravel paths of the interlopers, <br />darkened by the cloud of dark wings, <br />stirred by the shadow of the future. <br />The reminder that death precedes life, <br />The smoke of the fires rising slowly; <br />the wheel of the wing on the turn. <br />The veil drawing over the midlands, <br />the song of the night slowly silenced, <br />the call of the dusk borne away.<br /><br />Geraldine Moorkens Byrne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-chorus/
