Queen Of The Night.

I remember her from when I was small—
Evenings warm with distant song.
She stood near the back gate, stately and tall,
Where we played as the days grew long.

She woke when the world was winding down,
A hush in the air, soft as whispered vows.
From green-laced limbs she stretched her crown—
A secret scent beneath the boughs.

Her petals pale as moonlit skin,
Soft and strange, not meant for day.
She bloomed in stillness, shy within
The dark, then gently slipped away.

The whole compound held its breath,
Bathed in perfume sweet and deep.
A fleeting life that mocked at death—
Alive when most had gone to sleep.

She stayed for years, or so it seemed,
Through scraped knees and childhood games.
And though I’ve grown, I still have dreamed
Of nights that breathed her name.

They tarred the floor, they cleared the bed,
Where once she ruled with unseen power.
But still I smell her in my head,
That memory—my midnight flower.