Silent Worry
When the yellow fan quiets
the still night creeps forward
the panic of midnight arrives.
The crickets can't carry
a tune built on nothing
The moss fresh with dew can't help thrive.
I wonder 'till morning
I knew you before
The etchings my brain fascinates.
I pace fast and fury,
I wonder, I worry
My love is decideably late.
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
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