Midnight Sun

Sometimes they say the darkest hour

Is always before dawn.

Sometimes I say 

Let’s dance and run and scream

In the middle of the night

Because, who cares if the sun

Is shining, It doesn’t mean

It hurts any less.

I remembered the other day

My first kiss was a honeysuckle.

How the blades of grass, 

Formed around my silhouette.

I thought roses were red 

But I have known the most 

Beautiful yellow roses 

And roses, white with envy,

Who whisper sweet nothings

To the tulips bowing with praise.

When the skies grayed,

Melting the colors away,

Perhaps the spring offered

Some understanding to the

Weeping willow who finally 

Had a shoulder to cry on.

If you listen closely,

You may hear the aching of

Dawn’s old friend, the moon,

Who loves despite the distance.

Or, in spite of,

I haven’t found the answer.