I walked home with my books
In evening’s pastel blue
November’s chill compelled me
To hurry past the view.
Yet grey clouds stood like mountains
Beyond the city’s light,
The far off traffic winking
And autumn’s leaves in flight.
The laughter of the jackdaws
Was sweet as choir song,
But yet evening was dying
And night would not be long.
The hills were green and silent
Beneath the fading light.
The moon shone brightly, clearly,
Yet birds were still in flight.
And as I passed a stranger
Who might have been a friend,
I dipped my head to greet him –
He did not comprehend.
So on I walked, and neared my street
With orange leaves beneath my feet
And found my restlessness was lost
With weary legs the only cost.
The trees like towers, tall and wild
The night descending, daytime’s child,
I brought my eye to sky at last –
But evening had already passed.