A good part of the day is night,
In at the beginning, there at the end,
Like another kind of dark called death.
But whenever to our father's house,
Some nighttime crossing in a yellowed light,
To hold yourself against the night, and cry -
I want to cross another cobbled bridge,
To view the other side; and yes, a starlit trip
Upon the deep to islands where I never went.
Just so, a spangled sky of possibles and probables,
To have the stars gleam back - "I told you so".
Then go, and have the moonbeams shed some light
Upon this path I'll call my other walk.
I want to cast a shadow of my future self,
Part then, part now, beginning with an endless end.
Copyright © david colquhoun