A splintered moon rises
Over the village of my ramblings
And a cold mist follows, a chilly blanket
Deep from the valley floor
An old dog howls left alone and outside
In the long distance a motorcycle answers
I shiver but do not cover myself
I need to be cold
The church bell tolls the late hour
And a woman calls her cat in
Across the quiet square.
The ghosts of Santa Ovaia
Will soon be meeting above the town
To plan their nocturnal activities
By the cemetery of roses
Suddenly the cat is called for more urgently
Away in the distance I can hear
The ringing goat bells
They are walking to the safety
Of their night haven
And under the still olive tree
To myself I hum
A song I don't know
Perhaps I should leave the shadows
Where I linger
For the warmth of my bed
And the sad comfort
Of my dreams.
Geoffrey Fafard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-cold-night-in-santa-ovaia/
