Midnight Tryst

In the winking hour of night, My mind still bumbling with day, I crept softly from my bed, Edging creaks to the kitchen, And on tiptoe, stopped amazed. Through the sink window the moon Had laid on slipping shadows A thistledown of silver, Lifting the routine of chores And accustomed surfaces In a gossamer webbing

For an eyrie spun from light. I entered, a child again, And waited serenity.

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