When clock strikes and door shuts twice,
I alone sit on couch watching
The shimmering tip a smoke ring curls.
And wait quietly, for Night’s coming.
There Night leisurely strolls,
Dragging along his shaggy dark cloak,
Like a homeless man in the park.
“Again a sleepless night I see
“So why don’t you play me some songs?
Some ancient hackneyed piece,
Composed under my own weary eyes.”
So I play a song, brightest of colours and sounds
With the ticking sighs of the clock as my beat
Admiring the endless piles of plates
Lying in my sink to be washed in peace.
The Strolling Night
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