Swallows are flying low,
A late Bumble Bee drones past,
Seeking shelter,from this gloaming sky.
Children play upon swings and round-a-bouts,
Shadows dance with the last rays of light,
All the lands a glow.
And though the trees,a lake,
Upon which a Water-lily gloats,
A fisher-person casts their line,
Spending but a few moments,
To catch the last fish,before supper-time.
The wind rises.
A passing Badger snuffles the scent of Evening roses,
Such exclusive is this fresh air.
Distant cries,of a mother's call,
Brings Children from their World of play,
To warmed beds,too sleep,then dream,of another fine day!
The Ball-of-Fire,sinks into a grey mist,
Good Night Folks,and God Bless!