Soft comes the hush of eventide,
And the songbirds hide in the limbs of budded trees,
To bid farewell to setting sun with lullabies they’ve sung each night for centuries.
A lark is winging swiftly home -Black dot alone- beneath auroral clouds .
As twilight’s rosy blush . The eyes of night arouse.
A Horned lark, EREMOPHILA ALPESTRIS in a Snowy landscape.