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Whispering softly
Whispering softly, enticed by
the rose-amber glow of night;
For a fleeting moment my face is soft,
the moon and I make a beautiful sight.
The nightingale knows
the place of my repose
beneath the tree where roses
pose in polished poise with no purpose.
A night bird cries , breaking the spell,
in silence I listen to the distant bell.
And tip-toes the moon past the cloud
into my dreams as my heart sings aloud.
Waiting, waiting for the magic moment
to make the senses thrill
a song or a loving thought
from you in the night so still.
Aggie | 
