On a summer evening, soft and sweet,
Before sleep’s visitation,
While lying still and listening
To the Earth’s own meditation,
I can hear the sound of living things
As they sing in resignation,
To the dying of another day
As darkness comes along.
The wind that moves the tree leaves
To a whispered conversation,
Brings the haunting call of night birds
In their evening recitation.
They sing of hope and peace,
And of the spirit’s destination.
Their message makes the air less chill,
And makes the night less long.
From the pond across the field,
There comes a low oration.
The frogs are gently moaning
In a chorused lamentation.
Their weeping is a soothing note,
A source of consolation,
For truths that never seem to be,
For rights that still are wrong.
The jarfly keeps the rhythm
In a steady bass pulsation.
The melody is carried
By the cricket orchestration.
The quiet of the falling dew
Helps ease the Earth’s frustrations.
It adds to sleep the final note
Of the summer evening song.