Lady Night in your velvet mantle so blackest blue
Diamonds and a moonstone jewel hang upon you
the finest in the night array your delicate self.
Master storm in his raging mists of grey and black himself
Scudding closer, the edges a wisp of mist
A hint of the power in the brooding black insist
A trickery to the hidden rage
He’s hiding behind his soft finery, a false stage
Trailing wisps mock his true force
Waggling a come hither finger at you in course
Drawing you into his darkness and destruction
A trickery of darkest seduction
Hide yourself from his stunning power
Tuck yourself in your hidden bower
Leave him to his raging and thunderous shouts
For there is no other safer routes
Escape from his stormy weather
And let him leave you far from his trailing tether.
I was out last night and the waning moon in the eastern sky with the bright stars was being chased by a monstrous storm to the west. The trailing, wispy fingers of it coming close. Within moments, the clouds had over taken the moon. I picture a delicate lady at the ball being overcome by the dark and dangerous duke… (I’ve read too many romances.) This is what came of it. The rhyme was by accident as I looked at the two lines that start the poem.