Nightgown
Nightgown of the wilds
Softly drifting through the trees
Across the lakes and streams
Where the wild ones dwell.
So soft the touch
Dew on the spider's web
Fingering gently the green meadows
Filtering lightly through the spruce.
The soft squeek of mice
The gentle sounds of beaver
The call of the trumpeter
Pronouncing the gradual trickling return
Of the golden liquid sunlight
Ever so gently and slowly
Slipping off that light veil
That nightgown of the wilds.
--Ray R. Collins