Silent, Private Hour

Go ahead, stare

You're rude.

Even the wind goes
Round the woods
And won't disturb
This quiet hour,

I can taste her tears
In rain some nights
But not now
When I think of her.

The pale moon
Illumines a field of clouds
And owls are haunting
The deserted mill,

There are distant calls
Soft
As April rain
But coyotes
Are absent
From fields again.

No, the theme tonight
Is silence and peace,
No waterfall roar
Of wind in trees,

Only the moon
In bright night clouds
And her pale ghost
Haunting my thoughts.