Song of the Sick Minstrel

Alan Harris

The winter night droops down

Around the scratchy trees,

Tinkled by an icy breeze,

Snapping.

Let's stand beside this creaking tree

And watch the bold eclipse

Devour the midnight sun

As if it were a yellow wafer,

Crisp and cold.

At full eclipse,

Then shall I love you,

In snapping cold,

Beneath a moon-dark tree.

All