in the dark of the night
the stars shine ever so bright
a large white cotton veil cloud
floats by
giving a appearance of a ghost riding
in the sky
the stars burn like so many laturns in
the dark
so small they resemble the glow of
a spark
the moon through phases masquerading
with its disguise
showing long before the coming sunrise
the field once alive with cows and wheat
are now barren with hoof prints from their
heavy feet
but the raspberry bushes still flourished to pick
shake the cherry tree with a sturdy stick
the ripples of the peaceful pond nestles
by the side of the road
the home of the tiny creatures
and the noisy croaking toad