(In terza rima form.)
I wait within the grip of a long night,
And hear again the ceaseless marching sound
Of a clock that will not aid time’s quick flight,
Where each slow moment weighs my spirit down
Until I can no longer hope to see
That sweet relief as daylight comes around.
I watch instead a clock that hears no plea,
But marshals every moment one by one
While I await the rising sun’s relief,
Which tells me that another night is done,
That finally the dreaded night has fled
And the hope of a new day has now come.
Remember though when evening sky turns red,
That you know that you still have night to dread.