Night

The night is a dark, damp curtain

That hangs heavy and fills the air

With the moldy scent of sadness.

Its velvet fabric conceals the sun

That shines only with your presence,

And brings a dank chill into my room.

The only sound a lonely echo

Of a single cheerless voice,

Calling to you, pleading for nothing

But to hear again the sweet music

That sings when you whisper my name.