In the darkness, all serene
I came across a moonlit scene
I came across a campfire dream
I found a girl whose hands were cold
A teenage boy whose eyes were old
And both a grip with Evening’s hold
The boy did hold a fairer face
The girl, wet dewed, in Cynthia’s grace
And yet none seemed it out of place
His hands were warm as hers were chill
And on the softly glowing hill
They spun around to feel the thrill
And yet as tangled as they came
Neither was more or less to blame
As in the night we’re all the same
And as they spun right of their feet
And landed in the cold-grass seat
All messy things that once was neat
And through behind the cold girl’s eyes
An intricate web of sighs
Leave her to her midnight cries
But in the boys warm glowing face
The girl had thought she found her place
And none would find her to his taste
But this Boy belonged to none
And all who held him, wanted some
For He belonged to everyone
For girls do love the warmest hands
And all around him did they stand
My girl had melted into sand
But he still chose to lead away
Although joy waited, if he stay
For only him, they’d wait all day
And in his mind no one can tell
If he’s in heaven or in hell
He hides beneath his fire-shell
And if they cannot sit by side
Through the fire, smoky eyed
They peered until they nearly cried
A child’s longing is much more
Than one whose lived a thousand score
For the fire has never burned before
And so they sat and watched their friends
Life is life, means to the ends
And from the grisly heaven sends
And neither is want to leave the night
It just leads to morning-plight
And steals away the fire light
And yet the tears on the girls face
Seem her fears to lose her place
For she was never one to chase
And he is chased by all who see
And all girls love how he can be
And why would ever he love she
But tears that stain her teenage cheek
Are never anymore than bleak
As she sat by the moonlit creek
As he sat by the moonlit stream
With the fire burning clean
And in the cold, a rising steam
Behind his face where nothing lies
‘cept the changing colour of his eyes
And the calm wing beats of fireflies
Did he find a thing to say
Or did he let her go away
If he loves, then let her stay
But I moved on in through the mist
The Evening’s memory in my fist
To add to my growing list
Of uncertain likes that love them still
Of lovers spinning on the hill
And soft young words, that old hearts kill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem