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

Some might think such trips are wrong,
the shadows then are much too strong
and conceal things which 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 more than they hold harms.
The night time is a different world
which displays its own dark charms.

When the moon's face is brightly pearled
sending moonbeams softly hurled
monochrome colors all the land
especially when leaves are furled.

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 even 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 whippoorwills 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
the transition likely will be slight.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


very collocated thoughts describing the emblems of night, the poem it-self is serene as if a transition from a lullaby to soft drying dead leaves falling by lyres

I was afraid it kinda rambled about and lost its way around stanza 5-6. But I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Sometimes I'm a bit hard on my own writing lol.......stan

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