By Cindy Lynn Ray, age 12
Imprinted agains the night sky
Trees are black; their leaves are gone.
A broad red beam
Stretches 'cross the skies.
Porch-lights glimmer
Shining like beacons at sea.
Feeble birdsong
Stops,
Weighted down by the heavy silence.
Mothers call
Their children in;
Fathers come home 'mid hugs and laughter.
I sit here
A pen in my hand
To paint a picture
Of Dusk.
Looking out the window I see
Dark shapes silhouetted
Against light-filled windows.
The final bird chirps,
And then all is still.
The final mother calls,
And then all children are home.
The final father arrives,
And Night falls
Once again.