Here I am, once again,
witching hour at dead of night,
amid the quiet, deserted streets.
Overhead bright neons wink tirelessly,
like old souls lost in deep conversation.
Street lamps' yellow halos
throw shadows on wet cobblestones,
merry dancers in the swirling mist.
Quietness of night, soothingly abiding,
and a delightful prelude to my thoughts.
Beneath the red maple
I sit, enthralled by a pale full moon.
The silent stillness lulls and enchants,
bewitchingly drift into my reverie,
bitter sweet memories of days gone by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
At this quiet moment, a multitude of memories came to mind though you say bitter sweet memories of days gone by. Something in this life will never be forgotten.I enjoyed reading this poem.
Thank you Cigeng. Such memories are deeply etched in our minds. I am glad you like it.