The Passing Of The Night. 

The inky stillness of deepest night
Banishes even the moon’s pale light;
From a ghostly gum tree, serene and tall,
An owl hoots its lonely watchman’s call.
Hypnotised, creation falls under
The seductive spell of silent slumber
While nocturnal creatures eat their fill
And pursue their animal pleasures,’til
The velvet darkness of the witching hour
Concedes its lonely haunting power
To the break of dawn, like ruby fire
Burning brighter as the flames climb higher.
In the fickle morning light it seems
The lingering ghosts of last night’s dreams
Masquerade as the early morning mist,
Gathering in a silent spectral tryst
That obscures all that lies behind
Those hazy walls in both field and mind,
Until the radiant light of day
Drives the dreams and their ghosts away.

©2017 Joanne Van Leerdam

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