Once more, the diurnal dark descends,
Upon a hushed, expectant woodland.
Mild zephyrs dance the highest branch,
In semblance, to some lofty maestro,
Cueing the players now, to re- commence,
The quotidian rendition, of the eventide music.
Ss-Scratch-sounding insects, impart the treble
Sonorous bull frogs, the true basso- profundo
Woodwind sharps, blown thru the thickets,
In polyphonic tandem, with the forest serenade.
Mellifluous strains of the classic Sonata,
Nightly played, by the verdant woodland.
Leonard N. Shapiro (Sept. 2019)