Night Time

Shadows on the Wall

M.S.Medina
I love the night the most of all,
when shadows grow and creep up the wall.

The world so quiet, begins to sleep.
The troubled cares of today will keep.

Tommorrow is another day,
with a new chance to make all okay.

The birds grow weary and begin to sleep,
in their nests in slumber deep.

Crickets begin to sing in rhyme.
I love the night and make it mine.

I watch the stars that shine so bright
and the way they kiss the moon good night.

The rich deep color of the sky, like velvet soft and black,
seems to make up so completely for what the day did lack.

The gentle wind begins to sigh
and sings to me it's lullaby

The time for dreams at last has come
I love the night when day is done.

I close my eyes to finally sleep
and dream my dreams so dark and deep.

When shadows grow and creep up the wall,
I love the night the most of all.

Published by M.S.Medina

M.S.Medina is a free lance writer who lives in Southern California. This is her favorite quote. "Speak the truth with compassion."  View profile

14 Comments

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  • Sophie9/2/2007

    What a lovely poem! I'm more of a day person though.
    Sophie

  • Genie Walker8/30/2007

    Beautiful poem.

  • Orchiolum8/29/2007

    Night has always been a favorite to me as well.

  • Bonka's Mom8/27/2007

    Lovely poem; you are very talented :-)

  • Angie Shiflett8/20/2007

    This is great stuff! I love the night the best too! However, usually I am up writing articles and really miss out on the beauty that the night truly provides.

  • Charlotte Kuchinsky8/18/2007

    Really lovely piece!

  • Dr. Jamie Y. Marable8/18/2007

    How beautiful and vivid!

  • Alice Meadows8/17/2007

    Now this was fabulous! And I can relate...night is my favorite time too!

  • Lori Piper8/16/2007

    when is your book of poetry coming out???? I love all your poems!!!!!

  • Jacques Boulerice8/15/2007

    Some people are night people. In my younger days I was often up as much as 21 hours a day, seven days a week, but lately it's been more like 19. Getting old stinks, but this poem was a breath of fresh air.

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