…of dreams

In the unquiet night on the margin of dreams
the moon comes to me
wrapped in her cloak of darkness
as the hours flow softly, she speaks
not in words but in silence
like tears falling into a river
or time drifting slowly away
she is haunted by memories
and broken with sadness
her melancholy song
now etched in my heart
a sorrowful melody
her secrets revealed she sighs wistfully
turning to the waiting night
retreating into echoes
and then there is nothing
but the silence
© Ann Bagnall