The Nights
The Nights
There's a little yearn and
Fancy,
To ramble upon those wet meadows;
Breathe the mist in air, merged
With the leaves rustling on the trees about the edges.
Where street lights stammer to lighten intercept,
When from the neighbourhood,
Visits the melody of someone's flute;
Someone
Dwelled into the night,
For awaken till this hour of it.