On the Deck

sonnet #18
on the deck

i sit in silence on the deck at night
and look into the gloom. the low winds utter
low sighing sounds. along the horizon’s height
the mountains rise darkly in the waning light;
within the house, behind a wind-blown shutter,
a flickering light burns, and white moths flutter
against the casement in their blundering flight.

attracted by the glow of brighter lamps,
the younger guys have left me with my ‘pipe’,
listening to the wind and crickets call.
i only think: the sun has dried my cramps,
the mist will touch the morn, the time is ripe
and in the sky, the stars begin to fall.

poem by Derrick Hubert Schnabel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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