Friday Night

One Friday night, the stars are bright 
The moon shun early from its light 
Right on the hill, I paint my words 
To the tune of coarse vocal chords 

The wind blows cold as green leaves sway 
Like it's a time for holiday 
Contesting voices everywhere 
The loud songs play from here to there 

Alone, I sit here in the dark 
I listen to the sound of lark 
Loud drunk voices sound out of tune 
Although from shame, they are immune
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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