The ruins in
The mild night air
The roof it glistens
Moonlight bare
The opening which
Was once a door
Now harbours shadow
A boardless floor.
The gentle trickle
Of running stream
Nearby the sound
Of resting dreams
One eye open
To a moving world
The other closed
To fantasy stirred.
In historys pages
A gentle lull
That pours a drink
The glass now full
Endless memories
Stretched like twine
Within this night
Embracing time.