In stillness of the darkening eve, Birds wander through paths they alone can see, The whisper of wings brushing silence, As the day folds into soft nocturnes.
The moon unveils treasures hidden, Sleeping spaces beneath stark branches, And the rustle in the eaves, Carries tales on the chilly air.
Yet somewhere, beyond the shadows, Life trembles with unspent vigor, An echo of liveliness, staying, In the pulse of a beating heart.
- Stephen Spender