A November's Midnight Stillness
The water of the lake is murky and induces fright,
no wind from the bleak clouds swoops down on it;
the upward branches of the firs neither sway nor reflect
their image as the night before little past midnight!
It's the nocturnal moment when silence hushes everything, even brief songs;
who can see the eyes of the owls that glow in bushes and trees?
Even the fearful swans stare at them while swimming in throngs;
don't they seek the shimmering light of the stars instead of the dim moonbeams?
A November's midnight stillness brings on an unexpected moodiness...
while walking alone on an unlit path that used to incite the five senses;
all lawns and flowers are covered with thick frost: an early sign of winter's wrath,
and although this night seems more mysterious, it won't stop my foggy breath!
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