A March Night In The Village

The Harvest moon in a sky of stars is looking full and bright Above the rural Village in the stillness of the night The streets are quite deserted there's not a soul in sight And small grey moths are circling around the lamp of the street light. The singing of the crickets the only natural sound one hear Perhaps they serenade a mate 'tis their breeding time of year In walls and shady places whilst others sleep they sing The workings of Mother Nature is an amazing thing. The Village quiet as usual from time to time a few cars and trucks pass up and down To the road to the highway to a far bigger town The hoarse cries of the male brush tail possums can be heard on the gum trees And the familiar calls of the boobook owl is carrying in the breeze. A March night in the Village the silence is profound The breeding crickets chirping not a human soul around Of such rural tranquility a poet would surely write A poem at poetry readings he or she would recite.