The breaking twig
The
Putrification of
The worn, beget stretch
And won't that figure become green
In the nearing daylight star?
But it's not late
It's only dark
The crickets wane
Mosquitoes die
A flicker of plate-white face
Beckons the eye
And if by calling out to fear
Should echo some remark
Then it's not late
It's only dark