Night beneath the southern skies, hillside, desolate, grim;

Majestic starlight beams from the heavens unto him.

 Of work no need has he, of words, man, nor fear;

His peace and Deity are brothers, as night falls hush has neared.

 Above his shelter an army of trees, launch their shadows from subtle breeze:

Lonesome tenure yields, their needles search, as claws to beasts of mother earth.

Afar... the mountain streams, where rays of moon and water meet: 
Sing themselves through his dreams in serenity so sweet,

Memories of words spoken in time, become at one with the owl's cry:

Voices of history sing his lullaby, as fields of gray stand watch nearby.

The fireflies of campfires give dance of light as agile creatures leap:

Catcher of dreams...look after him, his peaceful, sinless sleep.   

By Marlene Monroe