midnight poetry

She waits in silence.
Ever so patiently.
Waits while the world falls in love.
She'll dance to the sound of the clock striking twelve.
All is never lost.
Whether she has company or is alone.
Snow sparkles in the air and she throws back her head.
Smiling and staring up at the dark sky.
Then she turns and walks in through the door
Into warmth and comfort and most importantly love.
Who would have guessed anything about her?
Innocent looking.
Blending in with the crowd.
Long dark chestnut hair, green eyes full of life.
The life she leads is one we do not know.
Each life a canvas, on which paint is spilled and glopped.
Poured, sprinkled and flung.
She'll wait as the world falls in love
And she'll dance to the sound of the clock striking twelve.
All is never lost.

--Kathleen Laird