The curtains are drawn,
And the moonlight trickles in.
As I sit beside my window,
To see a cold city warmly tucked in.
Wrapped in a shawl of mist,
The world sleeps slow.
With me is only a ticking clock,
That distantly says, ‘hello’.
Once wrapped in a comforting embrace,
I dreamed of pretty horses in a willow,
In mine, was a hand soft yet firm,
That I refused to let go.
Because the curtains once got drawn,
And the moonlight trickled in.
My mother came to my bed,
And lovingly tucked me in.