While whiling away the evening
after whittling down the day.
Obliging satisfactions
that might happen by my way.
I tended not to urgency,
nor bid favour to complaints.
Accommodating pleasantness
without trespass or restraints.

The porch, where sought my easy chair
and to gently to and fro.
Succumbing to the solitude,
of a calm, I’ve come to know.
Where prophets wait the prophecy,
where the poets wait their verse,
where the layman’s aspirations
come as dreamers to rehearse.

Whatever may, well, so be it,
leave the evening lose her light.
One’s presence one’s own company
with the closing in of night.
Beheld, supposed, a bird of prey
and a swift, of that I’m sure
near where the dogs are sleeping sound
in the dim of eve’s demure.

A dragonfly in gracefulness,
the embellishment of charm,
alighting on a lily pad:
of an isle of emerald yarn.
Of russet squirrels in dappled hues
and of owls in reminisce
'twixt the shafts of oaken twilight
on the dogs in slumbered bliss.

A rousing breeze a whirling dust
into pirouetting plumes
’round a tango of butterflies
performing for the blooms.
Clouds appear to disappear
as if playing hide and seek
with the teasing of the evening
while the dogs remain asleep.

A rooster proud his crooning perch,
‘comes the darkness’, to declare,
disturbs a bat to flee the roost
and to hunt the twilit air.
A floating leaf to wonder why,
why so early fall to ground
from where the crows a settling in
and the dogs still sleeping sound.

Serenely gowned in eveningtide
in the lonesomeness of day.
I lit my favourite chestnut pipe
as I watched the smoke away.
I eased into the fading light
left my wonderings to reap
and let the moments take their time
as would dogs when they’re asleep.