Poem By Anna Chapman
Night offers a dark peace to the lonely.
He washes the shame from our skins
In a still well of black on black;
He deals calming breezes
We cannot be heard here.
In the heavy rush of his breath
The solitude that fell upon us
It is much too dark to be invisible.
We are merely a secret
Softly kept here,
And who better to keep it
Than the quiet eyed children
of the night?