Treasure Island

John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

Breathe deep the midnight air


Breathe deep the midnight air
It is late and time, well spent,
proceeds its way to night
star-lit sky no moon to
chill with cruel shadows,
vicious shapes of topiary
yews clipped and sinister,
nudes, their arms outstretched
bolder now than in the sun,
no longer to excite the eye,
only the sound of dusty moths
clashing with a lonely lamp
and fountain in the oval pool
peppering the water's golden hordes.
Frogs and toads serenade the stars,
gentle on the ear calming
those who listen......
Breath deep the midnight air,
sink in sleep the angels sing.

Submitted: Thursday, November 07, 2013
Edited: Thursday, November 07, 2013

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