Solitude
The old street lamps have lent a glow
to foggy mists engulfing them
the ground is wet with dots of color
from each fallen leaf and stem
This autumn night as I stroll past
these nineteenth century homes of old
like ghosts that dimly show themselves
their silent presence leaves you cold
My footsteps break the eerie quiet
through the puddles left by rain
the only other sign of life
the distant sounding of a train
This is my favorite time to walk
so late at night when all is still
free to think without disturbance
unencumbered in my will
The late October crispness of
the cool damp air is oh so sweet
with smokey smell of fires lit
from chimneys up and down the street
Without distractions in the night
content in being on my own
there's peacefulness in solitude
I much prefer to walk alone
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