Saturday, 15 June 2019

The Night Wanderer












A "mood" sonnet for today.


The Night Wanderer

The hoot of an owl in the dead of the night
Shadows of gravestones beneath a full moon
I walk in the strange land that borders fright
Fearful of spectres that might emerge soon

Grey fields and hedgerow beneath the moonlight
The flutter of wings as a bat catches prey
I walk in the borderland world of the night
The darkness so long before coming of day

Grey waves break on black rocks; it is a fine sight
The dark sands at midnight, all empty and bare
I walk on the promenade, past windows of light
Think of lost shipwrecks, and the spirits of air

I love the strange world of night, of the time of the dark
While most folk sleep soundly, until the singing of lark 



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