One, three

By Byran Ball

The night is dark

As obsidian shine,

The inky black enthralls around,

Like a cloak that sparkles

An embroidered shine.

That night that twinkles on,

Until the long forgotten dawn.


Wake when sun breaks day,

Dye above bright shades of red,

Fades gently the dew.


See the colors born new,

Waves swell through golden grain fields,

Warms the amber hue.


Spy at stroke of night,

Star stitched tapestry swirls round,

Pale moon you sleep through.