They're not silent, mind you,
but quiet for monstrous cakes.
Folded to my left (the preferred side
for folding), I let my drowsy book
droop, and focus beyond my
open window.
Different shades of darkness,
in stripes from earth to sky. I hear the barge
Bellow, low down in the night. One long, two
short, around the bend it's coming...
And like a painting escaped from canvas
it glides across my window.
Stack upon stack of white light candles,
twinkling in the black, waiting for a
happy chorus to sing. It's a veritable gateaux,
pastel, torta, slinking through my portrait.
Around the bend,
one more trumpet,
a last wink,
and good night.
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