Thursday, March 12, 2009

Night

Silent as an owl during day,
Dark as pitch,
As dawn approaches, turning grey,
Towing day along behind.

Never escaping the rays of the sun,
Cold as death's icy fingers.
Day is the mother, you are the son,
The stars are your sisters.

1 comment:

  1. Oh, I like that poem! It just has this mysterious quality.

    ReplyDelete