Poems, Stories and Personal Accounts

Montana Pastoral
by Arthur H. Buckley
The sun has set and the waning day merges into night.
The hills that but an hour ago
were bathed in purple light
soften into shapelessness.

Only their crests stand silhouetted
`gainst the dark'ning sky,
and at their feet, the silver threads
of rivers idling by
are woven into darkness.

The lark is mute, its gay song hushed
while from a distant hill
the coyote lifts its doleful wail
and bids the world be still...
and hearkens to its dissonance.

The cattle, lowing at the bars,
await the rancher's care;
The sheep crowd close; the herder's dog
beds down and watches where
some foe might stalk to harm them.

Now in the slowly gath'ring dusk
like coals fanned to glow
from ranch house windows here and there
the lights begin to show
as twilight deepens into dark.

The wind's harsh drone is silenced now...
the lovely stars appear.
The cares of day are ended...
the hour of rest is here
and night draws close her curtain.

©2000 1/2002 Arthur H. Buckley/Diane Pile