A Wreath of Words
Dusk is but the lingering of day,
The day so wearied from its heavy burden.
Burdens which are eased by welcome night,
The night when all of Nature stops to rest.
Resting time for every man or woman,
Man or woman caught in trap of duty.
Duties now laid down in sweet exchange
Exchanged for dreams of which the poet pens.
Penning praise for love and lady fair,
Fair ladies waiting for the twilight hour.
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