Folklore: Let’s play under the Moon light

I.  Breezes of your presence come to me each evening, with mild rosy fragrance  The voice of the wind sing with you when you sang of the Nightingale and her lover  And now it is our tryst, one we waited upon, the one we craved when the sun was here II.  Now we make haste,… Continue reading Folklore: Let’s play under the Moon light

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Another evening, another night
The day is gone fast asleep
All about is darkness, moonless
Safe from stars, up and white
Which shone upon the sheep
And upon the Shepherds stress

Always, it is airy in the country
The folklore is the peoples joy
Now and then, the bard came
For boys and girls, it was night of stories
To the children, a night with playful toys
And in the mornings, all will never be the same

The shepherd lay quietly on a soft bed of feathers
Counting the stars that glitter before his eyes
Listening to the sound of the dancing wind
And to the snore of his neighnor, the oat farmer
He lets the queer lullaby play, finding a smile
For soon, a touch of sleep came descending

Flirty
Breezy wind of the south
Woo my candle light
Which danced like a mad man
She paint the wall
With the silhoutte of the light
Drawing pictures of many objects
Showing a magnified view of shapes
Scary and gigantic. Titanic!
The curtains are thrown up
At each blast from the wind
And her underwears revealed
The wind surged forward
Re-echoing the song of the Pine
Driving hard upon the street poles
And pulling the rooftops viciously
Making crazy men of the beer inn yell

And just outside, by the window
Dogs raced home to their forts
Even the trees knew some danger
The wind danced about the street road
Riding on newspapers and cellophane,
On every stray thing upon the Earth
She roamed about the street
Like a little hurricane
Upon the quiet fields of farms
And no one dared stand before her!

The grip of the quiet night,
Clouds which won’t rain
The firmaments when darkened
And the appearance of the wind
Upon which asunder came with
The dirt that flew into eyes
The songs of the Whistling Pine
And the disturbed roof tops
All tell this tale tonight…

A tale I love to write about