Before Morn

Touched by the evening breeze,
That ruffles at the trees in passing,
And the knowing glances of swaying leaves,
Of the sound of planes that pass overhead,
Quietened song of the evening birds,
And felines poised with eyes that glisten,
The hurried footsteps proceeding to houses,
Voices that mutter in friendly tones,
The homes whose windows turn a yellow hue,
Another shade of stories lacquering walls,
The siren of our future calling,
Our eternal companion marches on,
Another familiar season aging,
The temperature sinking as does the sun,
Thus twilight turns to punctuation,
As a moon ascends to watch over us until the morn.