Midnight pyre bright now in the sky,
how clear your light doth shine
while silken grasses sigh and shift.
Aeolus drifts his winds this way.

The hammers clank and strike the spikes
to fasten down the tents.
The minstrels strum their melodies
as all the children sway.

The hounds howl at the sky's bright orb,
their sign to soon be fed.
The merchants start to set up shop
with cheerful vigor, zeal.

The nobles and the common folk
tonight are all like one.
This midnight carnival seems fair;
let's leave them to their fun.

11/03/2003

Posted on 07/14/2005
Copyright © 2025 T.J. Carver