THAT COLD NIGHT

A night with the moon shimmering down on her skin of perfect porclain, the spherical pool of blue, the gleam of stars rippling above its icy surface like pearls of light, a mesmerizing call to its admirer.
The lake, an allure in its state of glassy frozenness, yet enchanted by the love and hope in those eyes.
The pine trees whispered in sympathy, awed by the longing in the heart of the girl by the lake.
The rocks, paying homage to a such dogged credence, so strong, as strong as itself, standing guard to the regal mistress with an undaunted heart.
A mistress who could stand the icy bite of the wind, a woman who was unperturbed by the spooky sounds of the night howlers and undisturbed by the thought of lurking evil.
A mistress who sold her heart to a man whose heart had been stolen by the sea, and yet she waited, waited for her sailor, waited for her sailor whose merry heart had forgotten his mistress.
For the upteenth time, she stared into that cold night, a cold night with a mind of its own, willing it to summon her man, her sailor who never returned... On that cold night.

© *Augusta Augustus*