Morning breaks. The embers smolder still
from last night's revelry -- a dancing fire,
the party gathered round it, close... until
at three or four, beginning then to tire,
they left the beach, a multitude in tow.
Half listening, half sleeping, dreamily
I thought I heard your voice, elusive, low;
it wafted through my window, rousing me.
I rose from bed to listen for you more,
too late: the crowd, retreating on their way,
fell quiet in the distance.
In the light
of yet another morning, I could stay
and grow old waiting for you by the shore.
But spare me this: choose me, forsake the night.