The breaking twig

The

Putrification of

The worn, beget stretch

And won't that figure become green

In the nearing daylight star?

But it's not late

It's only dark

The crickets wane

Mosquitoes die

A flicker of plate-white face

Beckons the eye

And if by calling out to fear

Should echo some remark

Then it's not late

It's only dark