Night weaver
the night is young and tenderbut how long shall I wait
my eyes they sting with dust
from all this empty space
the voice cries out from the dark dense woods
a faint echo replies
for her the magic doth unfold
yes here the charm does rise
like the silver moon had cast it
she spends her web of silk
but will she weep when morning peaks
and golden rays spill on it
no she does not, not for that thing
that turns her out to pasture
but rather soon forget these fiends
who'd rather follow faster
its such a beautiful disaster
it always ends in laughter
for morning light
is all too bright
and night time always comes after.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.