How Goes the Night?

How goes the night, Northerly breeze?

Swaying the boughs, laying claim to their leaves?

Did you add to their fall? The needles say much.

Cones litter the ground at the barest of touch.

No? Then, perhaps, it’s merely the sea–

Those eternal waves, playing tricks upon me.

Though, I could swear yours was the voice

I heard upon tonight’s air.

There! I am right…

So true. It isn’t becoming–this jealousy–

But what else might I feel when you deprive me of sleep?

–C. Green



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