Song Of The Whip-poor-will

The Whip-poor-will’s soft serenade,
as light of day begins to fade,
maketh my heart to take to flight
as thoughts of thee invade my night,

My eyes fall closed and there I see
thy face; thine arms embracing me, 
and wakefulness forestalls my sleep
as night, upon my bed, doth creep.   

Thy touch burns, still, upon my flesh
my soul to thine hath been enmeshed,
though many moonless nights befell
from whence we bade our last farewell.

Thy kisses ling’ring on my lips
art traced with trembling fingertips,
and ever will my thoughts possess
sweet mem’ries of thy soft caress.

So sing to me, sweet Whip-poor-will,
beyond my bedroom windowsill,
whose birdsong soothes my aching heart
through these long nights whilst we're apart.


september 2004
©Janet Reid






Awarded by Friendly Musings