A Gathering of Words

Song of the night There are golden skies over the glades, With clouds that look like dragons in flight. And they will soon devour the bronze horizon, And the glades will come to life with the night. For this is the time when the swamp sings its song, And only the brave come to listen. First a solemn death-like silence, But soon starts the buzzin’, croakin’, and hissin’. And this land welcomes no padded foot, Nor voice from a human throat. It welcomes no poacher or curious tourist, No airplane, buggy, or boat. But it hosts a score of midnight voices, The air is filled with a choir. As well as the pungent lotus flower, And the stench of the muck and mire. The glowing eyes of the nocturnal beasts, Locked in a frozen stare. They move on feet of a whisper wind, Just adding to the ghostly air. And king of the swamp: the alligator, Rules the night by fear. He lurks in the shadows of the stumps and reeds, Showing only his eyes of fiery mirrors. And all through the night the water does ripple- Why? No one may ever know. Perhaps it’s something in the nighttime wind, Or a creature from the depths below. And the saw grass seems to sway and dance, In the light of the lunar lamp. The music flows through the cypress groves, ‘Round the hammocks and Indian camps. But that time has come before the dawn, Before the birds take wing. When the glades give up its midnight cloak, And has no more to sing. For once again there are golden skies, A flaming rising arc. The glades by day a silent prairie, Just waiting to sing its song in the dark.