Sunday, August 28, 2011

Sunday Morning Poetry

Let Evening Come


Let the light of late afternoon 
shine through chinks in the barn, moving 
up the bales as the sun moves down. 

Let the cricket take up chafing 
as a woman takes up her needles 
and her yarn. Let evening come. 

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned 
in long grass. Let the stars appear 
and the moon disclose her silver horn. 

Let the fox go back to its sandy den. 
Let the wind die down. Let the shed 
go black inside. Let evening come. 

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop 
in the oats, to the air in the lung 
let evening come. 

Let it come, as it will, and don’t 
be afraid. God does not leave us 
comfortless, so let evening come. 


Jane Kenyon



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