Chrysanthemum, Regional Coordinator for Kingston and Twickenham shares this original poem:
Warm air breathes across the grass
And I reach for the swifts
Against the soft, pink sunset.
How I love the darkening trees
And the blackbird evensong
At the close of a summer day.
The magic of dusk excites me
As I sense behind the garden shed
The silent movement of our God.
In the hidden, maleness of the lightless shade,
There’s a gentle whispering of man
And the hushed comfort of His name:
Softly, softly Pan,
Softly, softly a gentle joy,
A gentle murmur of reeds, streams, twittering and pipe song
Drift their way into wakeful dreams,