Nocturne Blues

It's night, the rain is hitting hard against my window, not been feeling well for a couple of days. Tonight I'am drinking red wine and listening to blues and Charlie Haden. I must confess that there are nights when a blues is the best kind of music. Remebering the old bar, half crowded with dusty figures of a forgotten time, cold beer, a timeless world forgotten by all but those who happened to be there when it all was washed away by fleeting time. I can still smell the sweet whiskey and the mellow pipe tobacco they used to smoke, though it is slowly fading away into shadow of the past, with half-forgotten childhood dreams and summer evenings. How do you make time slow down?

Nocturne
Now through night's caressing grip
Earth and all her ocans slip,
Capes of China slide away
From her fingers into day
And th'Americas incline
Coasts towards her shadow line.

Now the ragged vagrants creep
Into crooked holes to sleep:
Just and unjust, worst and best,
Change their places as they rest:
Awkward lovers like in fields
Where disdainful beauty yields:

While the splendid and the proud
Naked stand before the crowd
And the losing gambler gains
And the beggar entertains:
May sleep's healing power extend
Through these hours to our friend.
Unpursued by hostile force,
Traction engine, bull or horse
Or revolting succubus;
Calmly till the morning break
Let him lie, then gently wake.

W.H, Auden