deepundergroundpoetry.com
Midnight yet to strike
Midnight yet to strike
and still the night ,
the wind-flower folded
closed against the dew;
nowhere was the blackbird heard
robin long since gone,
dark, waiting for the moon
the warm day cooling
beneath the cloudless sky,
come,let us drink inside.
Leave the candles
to gutter through the night.
Close the door and window
I shall follow soon,
draw back the curtains
let in the moon and moth
take the glass, drink deep
there is time enough for sleep
midnight yet to strike . . .
Sunday in the morning.
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