With the night approaching
 birds back home 
 I  hear very little noise.

Darkness encircles  
makes the night  intense.
could see few lights.

Bereft of life, activities 
turn least, the clock  ticks
It seems everlasting/

The minutest of sound 
magnifies to an audible noise
making the heart race.

Thus I sit in the parlour,
counting the hours,
as the pendulum oscillates 

with a strike every half an hour,
in an anticipation of  dawn. 
An ordeal it  becomes.

Nights fold , days 
open out, years roll.
I live quietly without