In the abyss of the nighttime post midnight ‘till dawn,
One may think near not a thing may go on…
Yet the bushland ’tis oft’ more alive night than day,
For in the cool of the night in summer ’tis easier to play…
The old farm dogs may bark at the roo’s by the fence,
Making those unadapted a touch on edge or tense,
Owl’s are obviously patiently awaiting their prey,
Which slithers or scampers wherever be it’s way.
Yet there always shall be times in the dark of the moon,
When thing’s do happen to seem rather out of tune,
As we perceive the nighttime to be a style of dark abyss,
Fueling our minds into imagining something amiss…
Despite our knowing it to be far from the truth,
Most stemming from fairy tale stories in our youth,
We see night too often as a dark abyss to fear,
Rather than just a time with less light to hold equally dear.
A cooler time where joey’s play and echidna’s snuffle,
Snakes slither and wild pigs create a kerfuffle…
Kultars and gecko’s explore to feast on their favorite insects,
Whilst frogs and crickets flex their tune of dialects…
’Tis actually a sweeter time in the Outback vast,
For the blistering heat of the day has finally passed,
Allowing one to enjoy the serenity found in the abyss,
Sans the chaos of the day, to replenish in the nights bliss.
The Poetic Life 2.0 