Photo by Spencer Arquimedes on Unsplash
For today’s Throwback Thursday piece, I have a poem that I wrote ten years ago. Some of my most inspired writing happens late at night when I can’t sleep, and this poem was no exception. I was lying awake at 2 AM, listening to the wind lashing the house (our house at that time was such that upstairs when the wind blew you felt like you were on a ship because of all the creaking). I couldn’t sleep. But my brain was wide awake. This is the result.
Night Fold
Yet many hours ’til morning;
The moon is high and cold,
And in her brilliant streaming are shown the ways of dreaming,
While the night awaits adorning–
Its silver edged adorning–
The earth waits for adorning
And sleep laps fold on fold.
Yet many hours ’til morning;
The stillness reign supreme;
A lone light o’er the meadow entwines with darkest shadow
And it gives a quiet warning–
A quiet glow of warning–
To the world it gives a warning
Of the certain power of dreams.
Yet many hours ’til morning
and I have seen that glow;
I know of what is spoken, of the spell that can’t be broken,
For I have felt a mourning–
A dream and then a mourning–
I have felt a strange sad mourning
For this I truly know.
Yet many hours ’til morning;
The moon is shining cold;
In starlight softly streaming unfolds the path of dreaming,
While the night awaits adorning–
Its silver edged adorning–
The earth waits for adorning,
And sleep laps fold on fold.
Thanks for reading!
~H
EluminoraCreations 