Silence – Zeca Mahoney

Susurrus in the weald, cadence of the wild,
fervidly concealed, a thrum beneath the stars;
eyes of stoic amber, rustling in the grass,
a hunter in the field, some things will always last.
Jester’s moon above the escarpment, a night of pallid grace;
hitherto and thitherto, the shadows in every place.