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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, August 26, 2013

The Girl In the Window

Edvard Munch "The Girl in the Window" (detail) 1893
She gazes from her window at the night
Her face framed in the pane as hours pass
The midnight stars shine 'neath the moon's pale light
Upon the floor, reflections from the glass

She sings a gentle melody learned from
The lullaby of crickets in the weed
A summer breeze accompanies her hum
Into the darkness daily thoughts recede

Her body willows as it bends and sways
She wears a gown of soft white cotton cloth
So shaded from the sun's demanding rays
These moments are as fragile as a moth

In twilight's inky indigo she's whole
The night's tender caresses soothe her soul.



6 comments:

Helena said...

I'm more your night time dweller myself but I feel for the window girl - the night becoming her only friend.

Bryan M. White said...

Edward Munch did paintings that WEREN'T of people screaming in horror and angst on bridges? Who knew? ;)

Very pretty poem.

ed pilolla said...

the crickets have something to teach if we can only listen more. ha! love twilight inky indigo...

J Cosmo Newbery said...

A sweet, sweet sonnet. Good for teh soul. Mine atleast.

Mynx said...

Simply beautiful

Margaret said...

lullaby of crickets (I miss that)

Such a sweet swaying, gentle poem this is. A lullaby. Sorry I didn't see this earlier!