So many things the day hides in full sight
sing sweet enough to break my heart the night,
and wild wind through the branches stripped of leaves
paints dancing shadows, moon art in the night.
The path is hard to tread the day, but sweet
freedom’s taste less tart seems in the night.
Yet under cover of the dark we lie,
deny love could depart, thief in the night,
and many times, with bitterness, we’ve said
we only need a fresh start, in the night.
Ephemeral as sunlight on the stream,
kingfishers never flash-dart in the night;
if only I could hang onto the dream,
I’d run with hare and hart throughout the night.
Instead, the clouds spill dark across the sill,
no words of mine can make them part this night.