She Speaks With Shadows

When dusk embraces the autumn sky
With sable, ebon cloak of shade,
She speaks with shadows by and by
Which gather 'round as twilight breaks,

To lay upon her gentle ear
Their tales of woe and dark regrets,
Of shattered hopes and bitter years
And restless yearning in their breasts.

They beckon her with whispered cries
     And silently she listens,
And in her stormy hazel eyes
     A dewy tear glistens.

What comfort is her frail form
     To such benighted eye.
Her gaze is soft; her voice is warm,
     And to her side they fly.

Alas, alas, my fate, alas.
     To be a shadow yearning
To walk with her when Dawn awakes,
     Her frosty torch-light burning.

But with my shadowed heart I bless her,
Hoping this might bring her bliss,
And sadly wonder as I wander,
Would she take a shadow's kiss?

George Chadderdon © 1994