Hand in Hand/After Midnight

by Alice MacDonald Fleming

AFTER MIDNIGHT

MY window gives on the quiet park,
There is never a soul in sight:
I lean and look through the scented dark,
In the second half of the night.
I'll pack my cares in a strap and buckle,
Throw them aside and forget them all,
While all that I smell is the honeysuckle,
And all that I hear is the waterfall.