The Hallowed Eve Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

THE HALLOWED EVE

The ashen clouds race,
Thrown forth by tepid winds in the skies,
To amber, southern fields,
Over the hills, where angels pace.
I am one with your dusky, raven eyes.
The soft perfume your body yields
Blends with the redolent breeze
Which ferries through the linden trees,
In the silence of the hallowed eve.
All willowy boughs begin to grieve.
And winter soon shall take the summer's place.
In nights such as these
I find your face
To be at one with ecstasies.