The stars have filled the dark’ning sky with white
And silver sparks begin to shoot around;
The breeze shifts through the trees and sighs, at night,
For day allows it no audience, no sound.
I move at leisure on rain-kissed pathways
And wonder whether the breeze loves the trees
It whistles through; for, during lonely days,
It rests under the sun, above the seas;
At night, returns home and sings for the trees.
Sometimes I ache to see this lone affair
And weep to know there are locks, but no keys
To hearts that will not open, never tear.
And then I see the rustling leaves and know,
And then I feel the breeze which cancels my woe.