Winter Rooks

The chilly rose of a December sunset
Spans the horizon
From nearly south to nearly north.
Commuting rooks go to their roost
In some tree dormitory
North of where I sleep.
Time for my tea:
For them an early bed.

Knowing the way too well to argue,
Yet exchanging an occasional
Rook–platitude for company's sake,
They take their slow–winged time;
Unnumbered and unregimented
Orderly yet free.

Their passage lifts me
Into their calmer, broader hemisphere,
Clear of the fret
Of questioning, and words.