The wind danced all night <br />through tall knitted pines <br />a full moon cloaked in grey <br />crept from east to west <br /> <br />my words were new then <br />fresh after a night of rest <br />they squirmed in my head <br />like the waiting spring when <br />February has been too long <br /> <br />I stare into that moon <br />as it rests there in the west <br />like a child who longs for Christmas <br /> <br />not knowing what each night <br />will bring sometimes full of <br />promises, sometimes just a <br />shimmer of gold or a silver sliver <br /> <br />I whisper promises, prayers <br />of want, words that surrender <br />my underlying hope like a <br />midnight confession.<br /><br />Deb Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/midnight-confession-2/
