The Night

silvery night


The moon,

Reflected over water,

Opens the grey and blue, puffy veil

Hiding it from my eyes.

The night is young, tender

Even, like a baby, so fresh

That dreams have not yet

Come out to play.

An evening bird sings

To the fireflies turning

Meadows into skies.

And the moon cascades

Itself down, into a milky haze,

Silvering the shadows,

Painting them the colour of fays.

There’s a stillness

In this night pregnant with life.

A hesitation, a pause,

A longing, cool and soft like a breeze.

Soon more insects will sing,

Foxes will trot, owls will hoot,

The iridescent clouds will hide the disc of light.

And the night will be heavy and dark.

It will be the spooky time,

When fairies hide and demons dance.

But that hour has not yet come.

And I lay back and let the smooth wind

Caress me, as a lover, under

The soft moonlight, as I enjoy

This water coloured night and hum

A half-forgotten lullaby.


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