The evening sun,             The softest breeze,
  low but bright,               rustling leaves,
   reflects from trees       whispers melodies
    a tender light.          sweet but slight.

     Trickling waters bring tingling sounds.
      The evening birds  are calling  now;
       natural tunes, like fragrant teas,
       acoustic runes. Contented, pleased,
       and leaning back at ease, i watch
        lingering   thoughts   of  thee
         rest  on branches  of my soul,
        stir then fly,  alight  and hold
       reposing sentiments, feelings bared
      but shetered within deepening cares.
    Vague but cherished, whispered notes;
  light, ungarnished, lilting they float
 like a leaf  on a summer's  brook,
like a lingering  summer's  day.