The constellation still glitters far away ,
beyond the reach of this generation or next.

 
A night of silence is not really silent..
owl's hoot, or cicadas shrill call

still permeates, bewilders..

My poetry words of tomorrow
in stealth will feed my inner mind ;
But they have become sober now,
there's no heather ale in those words ..
as the bottles are all smashed and the wine
runs free into the gutter.. the soil..
Earth worms and ants are now drunk..

Do you smell its fragrance in the air ?