In the faint recollections, of a blue light,
I see you, under the clouded hood .
The grass finches prepare their supper
And dust from down town comes by.
The moon slowly spread it rug,
Over the soft clouds to rest itself.
And yet you are in no hurry,
Like the mystery of dark, you tarry.
The night shivers around its frozen darkness.
And the frost whittles away every bit comfort
Of folks in this forlorn village.
But fails to find discomfort in you.
From the far sidewalks I watch you,
Like a picture, from the fairy tales of north.
The frost settles on, all over my cloak
But I can now , least care of it.
And, as you make your mind to leave;
Stand up from beneath the tree,
I see, on the sublime white snow
My grey silhouette going faint.
I turn around in clear anticipation
To see my little lamp flickering,
Ready to take its last cold breath.
And the night is about to be dark again!
