Finite
The night- serene and dark,
We lay, mellowed in peace,
How silence would embark,
Down to its utter tease.
As no morning moves,
There’s news I don’t see,
only the outside shoos,
but this, this couldn’t be.
Our little bundle of joy
Is heard of- a distant keep,
I want a toy
To lull me back to sleep.
I can’t, there are people all around,
Could I ask them why?
Was it so low to sound
For anyone to pass by.
The crackles, crispy clatter,
Halls that stand still,
That’d been the matter,
Where holes would fill.
The smile, the chill we feel,
No longer a walk in winter,
Would ride us by wheel,
Yet as it'd wither,
There’s a lonesome squeal.
You ask to detest,
But this was a dream,
Sleek as silver, lest
We redeem.
Copyright © Lone Hermit | Year Posted 2019
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