The Night of the Hillside

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
poem about the night

Submitted: February 10, 2008

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Submitted: February 10, 2008

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Maid, polish thy silver cutlery
You must be ready for tonight
Candles shall bring life to the tombs
The owls fearing the eerie sight
 
Shall not cut the thorns of the rose
Its withering face is about to faint
Moss embraces the cups that you chose
Red wine hurts the lips of a saint
 
For tonight is the night of the hillside
It is the night of Women in White
Not for the shy, want to live, not to hide
No child of mine shall sleep tonight
 
Maid, the branches of the ivy trees
Shall reach the diamonds of the sky
When we, the peaceful, arise to tease
The ones who are about to die
 
To feast among their hopeful dreams
And dig the beds for sleepy men
Or lecture them on what it means
To miss the bold gates of heaven
 
For tonight is the night of the hillside
It is the night of Women in White
Not for the shy, want to live, not to hide
No child of mine shall sleep tonight


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