Golden fire bushes glow above

Pinkish red of dusk’s calling card

Emanating warmth without heat

Dark flecks of starlings swirling waves

Jousting shimmering tumblers

Diamonds in the crown

Falling to roost

In the distance the bark of the vixen

Penetrates the noiseless cloak  

Piercing, lancing the silence

Answered from the darkening thicket

Even the brook seems to cease its babbling

Darker fingers grasp the last of the light

Only allowing the moonshine its place

Solemnly bowing back from its beams

A time for lovers to wish upon

As they cuddle up close on the loving seat

Earnestly making promises

Sealing them with tender kisses