the time was neither wrong nor right

I have always enjoyed night. The softer sounds, the uncluttered smells, the paradoxical melding of lethargy and excitement. Everything seems to be either buzzing or sleeping. (I like to believe I am the former.)

I used to use the night. I used to walk dark streets. I used to spy dark skies. I used to touch the grass blades recovering from a day's solar beating.

Tonight, I remember what I miss. I remember a poem which makes me miss all the more.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain--and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;

And further still at an unearthly height,

O luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Robert Frost