At Midnight Poem by DM W

At Midnight



At midnight, when all is quiet,
I hear the softest voices.
Are the pale ghosts of yesterday
Murmuring in the deep green trees?
Are they hiding amidst leaves?
Are they whispering on the breeze?
About wondrously subtle things?
Is there a light that never dies?
At midnight, when all is quiet,
My worries & fears dissipate.

At Midnight
Sunday, October 7, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: ghostly
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