Late sleepers like me know the hush
Of midnight - still - without our rush
And the moon flush against the sky
Like a lone lighthouse on standby.
I hear the whispering leaves rustle
Quiet laughter at humans who bustle
About at day like little toys at play
Who are tucked away at end of day.
Late sleepers like me hear the sighs
When the dream flickers and then dies
In the silence, the rhythm beats
While the moon’s flush and leaves rustle.
Copyright © Sherese Gooden