Sighs After Midnight
It was 1984 and the clock struck thirteen when I left her
alone on the station of a one-horse town
with only the wind blowing hard for company
and the rain pouring down.
She used to tell me I had no heart,
how the love we shared was predestined to fall apart;
and as a distant jazz trumpet blew, lost in the gale
her tear stained face blurred in my view;
a result of the weather or the tears I cried too?
I cannot say now, but then in the soot and gloom,
a curtain which closed this play of love and doom,
I breathed many sighs after midnight was long gone
and that distant blue trumpet played on and played on,
pricking both my conscience and my soul...
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