This was just another social evening, like any other
Hazy vale deludes, the senses from pints of bitter
Simple this life from the city, now to the country
Just passed eleven, and this road is looking lonely
Pitch black as I’d left my torch, back in the house
Despite the few passing cars, it’s quiet as a mouse
Headlights, illuminating, enough to find my route
Wet beneath my feet, and steps invading the mute
Far off I can hear, the late night practice of a choir
Thoughts return to Christmas, and things I so desire
For now I pick my way, through the ever blackness
The night draws late, as I’m miles out in wilderness
Late night aircraft passes, overhead to somewhere far
As I step in to let pass, yet another brightly lit up car
The wind is moderate, but enough to feel the cold air
Taking a hand out my jacket, to brush back my hair
Ears begin to endure, the chill of a mid autumn nip
As this road consumes in darkness, I do fear to trip
Stop for just a moment, take in the peaceful ambience
And to look into the night, as I am its only audience
So I continue on my way, with this repetitive tread
Making ghosts in my mind, of the apparitional dread
Crunch, tap crunch, my boots pursue this roads length
Far that I have to go, as I am tired except my strength
The moon doth peers out, from behind a cloud to look
A single man in the night, like something from a book
Few stars that blink, as darkened clouds partially depart
Something rustles in the hedge, and sends to my heart
But it was only a bird, I must have disturbed from sleep
That’s something I could do with, as I am wearied deep
The road bending to the left, and straightens again soon
How I love the night time, from the sunshine’s swoon
A group of distant lights comfort, as I am nearly home
Back to my house of silence, to return to my poetic tome
Just a few hundred yards; pass the oak tree on the right
Soon to come to an end, of my little journey in the night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Truly captures the anonymity and tranquility, the ramblings of the mind as the feet know the sure way.