Nocturne

Darkness and silence waiting to clasp hands,
Trees faintly quivering in the twilight dim.
Only the cold-eyed moon, who never understands,
Mocks the pale stars which flee her ghostly rim.

Only the stars have not forgotten yet
The agony on morning's pale face.
Only the stars can never quite forget
This little fevered world of time and space.

Night's fingers have caressed the tangled hair,
The wild grey hair of hills who knew another day,
Of hills grown old in pain and worn with care
Pleading with darkness evermore to stay.
Weary they sleep, and sleeping sigh,
Grey phantom hills that cannot die.

—P.P.P.