- Books, Literature, and Writing
Upon A Wistful Night
once more, the mire found me, collapsing in night.
“The light has gone again.” it spoke to sullen eyes.
I turned, holding a flower. its petals sorrowful, numb.
in darkness, the colors wept. for laughter and the sun
brushing pale leaves, my hands felt its last shutter.
“There is only night here.” said the mire,
“Yet still, you wander?”
I gathered fallen petals, listening to the earth mourn.
“Yes, the stars always glimmer and warm.”
“But you loved her?” the mire looked into my eyes.
“I believe I still do.” I said—and the sun began to rise.