Poetry: Driving at Night

This is one of the first poems I ever wrote.  I remember using the ancient printer at the local library to print out the first copy.  Anyway, it's not great, but it takes me back in time.  Enjoy!

Driving at Night

We milled along the old church road

That led down Amber Lane.

I listened to the cricket’s song,

On balmy air it flowed.

The night air was a perfume dense

That smelled of sweet September,

That lingered long around my head,

Suffocating every sense.

The withered trees did bend and sway

And whistle in the wind,

A cold and broken melody

That called to waning day.

We passed a field of wheat and grass,

Adorned with fire-flies,

That seemed a beacon in the night

Among the broken glass.

The leaves did tumble on the ground

And rustle as we passed,

So we paid witness to their dance

And nary made a sound.

The harvest moon loomed in the sky,

The last of summer’s yield,

Reminding me of what I’d reap

And what would surely die.

And when we reached our journey’s end,

The lonesome drive was done

And all that breathless earthy din

Lay down that final bend.