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