On strike of midnight, then goodbye
as shadows thicken what's hidden-
bends willow weeping, sobbing 'why? '
On strike of midnight, then goodbye,
and pin these lungs, brief butterfly
that sailed in breeze of oxygen.
On strike of midnight then goodbye.
as shadows thicken... what's hidden?
Glenn Bagshaw
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/triolet-at-midnight/
