Good Night Children Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Wild winds whirl with hearts of snow,
white birches bow, twig strung,
at the sky’s dark encounter.
Suburbia, evening’s dark solitaire,
fulfils the abandoned day’s fortitude.

Children’s voices float softly
over still warm chimney’s recall,
colliding with bedside visions
and wild coloured stories
of wintry fantasies and warm joy.

A breath of irrevocability
cloaks the dieing day,
dreams of ancient ships
sail into hidden suns and longing.
One more page is torn
from the calendar of craving.