Words and Lines

White Nights

(on midsummer nights in Cornwall)

by Tris Kerslake

I love the long white nights when clocks disclose their foolish discipline, and owls are mindless.

With days that do not pass to other days by dark and hide the waiting moon from open curtains.

When talk does not dissolve upon the stroke of ten and children will not sleep before their stories.

When breathless pubs bring out their chairs to let the locals sit the quiet hours outside with empty glasses.

And blossoms never fold their petals still and catch the coming dew on brilliant open faces.

When peace of endless evening walks with me along the edge of rustling waves and paints me lullabies.

And I am all alone beside the shore and by the restless clifftop gorse with nights of light and wonder.