Nunc Dimittis

The sun sets
Against my sycamore
The goldfinch 
Flicks its way to roost.

The white wall waits
As shadows lengthen
And the rising moon
Draws the eventide.

The far forest
Slips into a silhouette
As all our children
Fall into a fitful sleep.

Having nowhere else to go,
I make for home.

JL May 23 10:57