






You told me of a pure white flower
they call ‘The Night of the Moon’ -
you said it would not come to life
in the morning light
nor in the afternoon -
but when the sun had set,
we marvelled at its gentle birth
and breathed its fragrance
on the warm night air,
‘The Night of the Moon' had come
to celebrate the Earth -
then like some fleeting love affair,
at dawn, our moonlight lady died,
a lifetime lived
in one brief summer night -
I loved you then, my friend,
for understanding
why I cried ....