Western sky had burnt already.
Feeling tired and unsteady,
I had closed my chamber door.
I was sitting in my chamber
When a glimmering dieing ember
Left its ghost upon the floor,
Lost and lone for evermore.
Sleepless, I was sitting lonely
And the prison moon above me
Broke my darkened solitude.
Slowly, opened I the window
And that shining midnight widow
Played my favourite etude.
Nothing could that music mute!
As my window had been opened
Midnight air could afford it,
Could afford to come inside.
Summer nights are made for poets,
As their poems and their sonnets
Need to breathe... A summer night
Is my evertime delight.
2016
A Summer Night
© Copyright: Николай Курочицкий, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117013007455
Свидетельство о публикации №117013007455
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