Black silhouettes etch the sky,
Midnight streaking its indigo,
Above the weary maple trees,
Sighing as they bend and sway
To the breeze’s quiet nocturne.
Beneath, roots clutch the slumbrous earth
With crooked, unyielding fingers,
Unwilling to release their memories,
While stars flicker—half-afraid,
Their glow too fragile to linger.
And I, a shadow among echoes,
Strain for whispers of Sunday dinners long gone,
And fireflied nights dimmed by time’s wear,
While the light of my amber youth,
Wanes beneath a pearly moon.
Yet as the faint hues of dawn emerge
Blushing the sky in rose and gold,
To soften the sorrows of the night,
I, though dim, let them dissolve
In the silence of nocturne’s passing.
©️2025