After Midnight
Branches are silent at this late hour
I raise my glass, say cheers to my mirror-image
I drink my beer and look up to the moon,
which leaves a whitish shimmer on the leaves.
My mind is drifting to the past,
to far away countries and to friends,
to different stars, the Southern Cross,
to southern skies, to southern life
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
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