Meditative Twilight Poem

In the soft pull of the evening’s hush,

Where silver lines the sky’s deep crest,

Each blade, each leaf, unmoved, uncrushed,

Breathes with a calm that knows no rest.

The day slips off like a shadowed veil,

Drawn gently back from hills and stone.

An owl calls out—a sound set sail—

Across the quiet, vast, unknown.

But then, a shift, as time holds still,

And stars grow bright in midnight’s care.

The earth leans close, as though it will

Unfold its secrets, dark and rare.

And in that pause, a thought takes flight,

A fragile thread spun through the night.