Nocturne

Where is the morning gone,
Who is the one undone,
Why is the sun so high,
What is the reason why,
How is the night to come,
When is the day forlorn
And the compact with the light is torn.

These are the fellows of doubt.

When the fruit grow on the tree,
The beetled flowers deploy
Their sticky scent upon the air;
The nascent fruit unaware
Of their odour that will cloy
When in turn the beetles see
Them bejewel the trunk indelicately.

Ovaries swell with pulp and sap.

Of what account is the day
When the fruit have fled to the ground;
Fled the light that swelled their flesh;
Repaid the debt with a pulpy mess.
Will the night abide the fruit that is found
When the light has passed away?
Or deny the fruit of the day.

Such is the fate of the tree.

Night creatures abhor the light
And shun the ones that wake by day.
Night creatures are not spied
By day as in their lairs they hide.
In the darkness they join the fray
Ready to flee or fight
When treachery they sight.

Leafmold press upon footfall.

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  ¶ 10:10 am