Evening In The Park
One of my pleasures is walking in the park,
When the lights are gone out and ‘tis dark.
Walking down twisting paths that go,
Where ranks of poinsettias and hibiscus grow.
And when tired sit on some upended stone
That makes a rustic seat: benighted and alone.
Then I feel happy for no particular reason,
Except perhaps to be reminded of the season
For there always lingers in the evening air,
The smell of the earth and all that grows there:
Or withers.
And if I get too enamored of the gloom
There’s the late moon telling me to get home.
