Out Of A Window Rail Poem by Alafe Ramat

Oh! How i love the night, the secrets and the mystries of the dark, so i mutter under the evening sky,.. How soothing, the touch of the passing breeze, granded yet another possibility, so is a mirror image of everything good,.. i walked down the village streets, the music of the night like fiery flute, fire flies blinking their needs in the clocking breeze,.. And like a rising sun glows a hut so much alive, with a blind old man listening by it window rail,.to the music of the night,.... Beckoning the magic of the dark, in the strange warm embrace of the night, these circle i joined at the foot of the window glaze,.... And drawn by the silent eyes that looked straight into the mystery night, seeing nothing but a sight so wise with the mind's eyes,... Then he made free his riches out of the window rail, for his wrinkle old skin coos' not his jewels and his noble silk,..... 'Though you may not comprehend, every riddle has an end', so he began to say, capturing my mind so with his wise old voice,... There out of the window rail, a tale he told of a whence in time, the land been ageless with wild horses running free,.... And a deviod yet he spoke of,....the earth deviod that brought back a fear in our hearts, and our eyes first loose their tears and sleep,.... Silently drives the azure sky, frightening the dawn away for the better part of the morning,.stirring from slumber we stared into the first light of the morning,..... But out of the window rail stood nothing but silence, that longs to grip our soul, for there through the window rail lay our hero, so cold and still as death itself!