A Beautiful Dusk

Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December.
With the cold kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember.
The crimson fingers of the setting sun spear through the meadows of twilight
With colors of navy and teal and sky, the meadow with the sun will take flight.
The world halts and begins to settle into a long and relaxing slumber
The diamond studded skies of the winter night dazzle the green-edged timber
Not a crow makes a caw, not a sparrow sings high, not a single insect may lurch
The chill-eaten air is as dead as the stomach of a Monday-morning Church
A seducing aroma that none may match lingers and plays at the nose
It is a mixture of burnt hickory, frost, and cold ground, ah, ‘tis as sweet as a rose.
The brooks, insomniacs, for they do not sleep, speak so soft it is but a whisper
The water it makes is indeed very cold, but it couldn’t at all be much crisper
The dusk begins to fade, to darker blues and grays, and ‘tis time for dusk to rest
Its done its part, it has astonished the world, to its great and very best
Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December
With the cold, kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember