Sonnet - Last Night

Last night – was cold, lyrical and lost,

Not true to modern scheme of dull;

Where a pint of Elegiac quietness costs,

And no cradles paused for lullaby’s lull.

Then how, seduced was nature’s pulse!

That every soul in winter’s hide,

Drunk, from folds of drowsy petals,

Restless, like some lonely bride.

Stood, waited for its turn to touch,

To lit in pyre of midnight chill,

What not brought in ease, and such

Fire returns, for Poet’s fill.

And those who slept in peace and quiet,

Day returned, as forever will.