Bruges

The sun casts long sighs o’er the cathedral,
Casting reflected light into mine eye
Whilst Bruges starts to sleep, I see the steeple
Drenched in light of evening left to die.
The gentle slated roofs bow to see
Where no one walks save the empty night air,
Cool in its melody whilst teasing trees
And canals and streets and my senses there.
I remember staring at the ev’ning,
And trying to imprint it on my mind
Forever, so to never lose a thing
Through cold forgetfulness as thoughts unwind.
For in Bruges my memory often rests
When I cannot sleep and wakefulness nests.