Wednesday, January 14, 1998

"Ode To Midnight"

So crisp, so cold is the night air,
So much joy, hope, and wonder.
Whether cloud covered or cloudless night,
The stars shine true, shine bright.
Midnight is the time when all things occur.
Midnight is the time when few things stir.
‘Tis not morn, nor eve,
Yet both do we conceive.
Not much sound, ‘tis not quiet;
Everything sleeps: I don’t buy it.
I am not sleeping, I cannot dream
But write this of the conscience stream.
Oh glorious night, I feel thee ‘round me!
Oh glorious night, I need thee to comfort me!
All evils must be banish-ed;
‘Tis not their time, not now, not yet.
Am I poet or am I author?
Not I know it. Oh what a bother!
The white snow falls,
The howling wind calls.
The stones are cold, the crickets sleep.
Oh I wish the clouds would weep.
Over the fence, I hear chimes,
And dogs, and wondrous times.
Then I remember, if only ‘t were true,
‘Tis midnight, with moon so blue.
I am not worried, frightened, or even scared.
I have gone where no man hath dared.
Off in the distance, lies the fair city,
Oh so busy on such a night, ‘tis a pity.
The cold grips me, yet I do not surrender.
I have warmth from the Light of the World or –
Nevermind! The cold doth win
And back I go, away, back in.
Perhaps, when I again meet the night,
The stars everywhere will shine as bright!

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