She does not come
At dawns appointed time,
When skies are pale
And stars begin to fade.
When drops of dew
Wake every sleeping flower,
And songbirds tribute
To the day is made.
She does not come
When noon in all its glory,
Is sometimes dazzled
By the ardent light.
And drowsy mayflies
Settle on the water,
To cool their wings
From vacillating flight.
But once the weary
Day embraces slumber,
The world is bathed
In blue seductive light.
She'll gently fold her
Eager wings around me,
Oh how my love
Comes softly with the night.
Copyright © Alan Gilbert 2011.
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