The Inky Night Poem by Ernestine Northover

How really eerie becomes the inky night,
Which street lights illuminate with pitiful glow,
Revealing alien shadows in swift flight,
And ghostly noises that echo 'in vacuo'.

Night gradually darkens all this world of ours,
Silence reigns, except for nature's cries,
The elements engage us, with their salient power,
And far flung stars sit quietly in the skies.

Whistling winds, down alleys, wing their way,
Hats fly off, and umbrellas invert with ease,
On pavements, the homeless, with nowhere to stay,
Curl up in cardboard boxes, and slowly freeze.

Between those hours of sunset and the dawn,
A fox sneaks out in search of needed fare,
To hunt until the awakening of the morn,
Returning thence, to cubs within her lair.

Whilst we sleep, nocturnal creatures stir,
The bat, the owl, the cat, all stalk abroad,
They have no fear of darkness, they prefer
This sunless land, which, they have long explored.

How really eerie becomes the inky night,
When street lights illuminate with pitiful glow,
We awake to sunshine and the gentle light,
But all was darkness and existed 'an initio'.

© Ernestine Northover