When most are warm in bed at night
I've walked the woods in pale moon light
while whippoorwills sang their sad song
and geese honked in a midnight flight.

Some might think such trips are wrong,
the shadows being much too strong
and conceal things sane men fear
in a world where people don't belong.

I wonder if they have been here
in dark forests with no home near
when breezes turn tree limbs to arms
and things are not as they appear.

These places past the lonely farms
hold magics but seldom hold harms.
The night time is a different world
which displays its own dark charms.

When the moon is brightly pearled
sending moonbeams softly hurled
monochrome colors all the land
especially when leaves are unfurled.

When colors cloak the hardwood's stand
and festive foliage gets near out of hand
at night the leaves are not so loud
they're muted by nocturnal hand.

In winter when the woods are cowed
and the nude trees stand up proud
the ground is jeweled by the frost
and quiet descends like a shroud.

Comes spring and pastels all are tossed
but in the dark the shades are lost,
replaced by myriad shades of gray
which shift as each hollow is crossed.

The summer time at end of day
brings choruses as tree frogs play
and crickets count the farenhiete
as crickets have their full say.

I cherish the moon when it shines bright
almost like giving full day light.
One day will come my final night
Likely the transition will be slight.