November Nights Insomnia - Old Silver Key

My old lonely house filled with the smell

Of burnt fallen leaves.

Sound of passing birds' wings…

Trembling, oldness, twilight…

Candle is fading, books, old photos are in disorder on the floor

Wind is throwing naked black branches into the window

I’ll not fall asleep this night

At the dawn behind a pale veil

I’ll see like in black white mute cinema

Those who are long ago passed