The long evening with its strident call
harries me
the night became a bed in which to carry me
as I become the setting of a settling sun
stripping down
toning up
I drink a cup of kindness
for auld lang
When the doorbell rang I was almost asleep,
eighty seven sheep at the last count.
I answered dreamily as the candle flame wavered
wearily towards its end
Friend or foe?
You never know
who calls at the mid of night.
The morning slept as late as I
and so I rose with the rising of
a red faced sun.
Who knows
why
the crimson in the sky that makes the
day blush
makes me rush
guilty conscience?
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
The long evening with its strident call
harries me
the night became a bed in which to carry me
as I become the setting of a settling sun
stripping down
toning up
I drink a cup of kindness
for auld lang
When the doorbell rang I was almost asleep,
eighty seven sheep at the last count.
I answered dreamily as the candle flame wavered
wearily towards its end
Friend or foe?
You never know
who calls at the mid of night.
The morning slept as late as I
and so I rose with the rising of
a red faced sun.
Who knows
why
the crimson in the sky that makes the
day blush
makes me rush
guilty conscience?
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