Midnight Comes…
(26/6/1970)
Midnight comes, the Bewitching hour.
When men turn to pumpkins
And magic turns the mind.
Just me and midnight,
Pen and paper and the wish to write
Secret things.
A letter to my love?
A plan to guide my life?
The answer to a problem?
Or just what I'm going to do tomorrow?
Weary eyes, warm hands, naked limbs and limp-coiled me.
And when the ink's run out
And the paper full
My eyelids fall me to sleep.
Paper lies on the floor till daylight comes
And the magic goes with the darkness
Till tomorrow night!
By now I'd been a graduate geologist for nearly a year. I was staying at Udny in Aberdeenshire, had a room to myself, friends in the Samaritans and a lot of hopes for the future. Then, as now, I sometimes had difficulty sleeping and would read, or write. This is night verse.