on the spring hillside

glass that reflects the gentle evening light
trees that in their full green are still not proud
words that come from the radio not too loud
we praise the coming of the cooling night
stars here will not shine as blazing-bright
as in those places far from the normal crowd
where darkness comes upon us like a shroud
the moon's a small sword that doesn't smite
within these walls we find a human peace
outside the the darkness has a face that's wild
each day's ending has its sad projection
we'll snuggle under the thick warming fleece
remembering as we do the hidden child
and glad that we no longer face rejection