Just past midnight on the lawn and a thin moon;
Those white tossings may be the flutter of dresses;
They may be petals, for the wind bears in it a sweetness;
Any dark dresses there have blended into the lawn.
The musicians, by now far away, doze on their cases;
Two Doberrnans leap through the park toward the ghost of a scent,
And one window only in all that great house gives light:
Is it a servant standing remotely for us,
Already have an account? Log in
Join KR for even more to read.
Sign up for a free account and read any five pieces a month.
Previous
Next