The sky is dark tonight,
Which might sound like
A bit of a misnomer but
It’s the truth; all those
Clouds shrouding the
Moon’s face,
Blotting out the stars.
It is the sort of night when
Even the dulcet tones
Of the angels are dulled
By the memories of
Bare feet on wet cobblestones
And the general lack of living.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
Omg, you should be nominated for the next poet laureate. This one was amazing.
I miss European cobblestones. None in America.
Haha.
Thanks Susan but I don’t really think I’m quite at that level.
I;ve been to the Poet’s Corner. They had to start somewhere no?
wonderful imagery!