Night blooms

A villanelle inspired by the glorious perfume of wistaria that fills the house at the moment.

 

The night air’s full of the headiest scent,

From the trailing vines round the arbour seat,

I still see the blooms though the light is spent.

 

Moonlight falls silver where dark clouds are rent,

And the owls are drunk drinking nectar neat,

The night air’s full of the headiest scent.

 

Your eyes said one thing, but not what you meant,

Beneath the vines where in springtime we’d meet,

I still see the blooms though the light is spent.

 

I touched your dark face but you’d not relent,

With heavy heart I admitted defeat,

The night air’s full of the headiest scent.

 

It was I who left with my shoulders bent,

Through the vines the owl swept on wings so fleet,

I still see the blooms, though the light is spent.

 

You took the sun from the sky when you went,

The moon and its silver where soft feathers beat,

But I still have the vines, their heady scent,

I still see the blooms, though the light is spent.