January In Georgia
Six a.m.
Sunday morning
Are the angels still sleeping?
A pagan wouldn't know
The streets are quiet
Frozen in cold blackness
Steam rises from frantic heating units
Dreams are lost in the expansive sky
Soon the sun will rise
Laying pallor on the beautiful night
Washing away the solitude of the stars
Most of humanity will come to life
While some like myself will fade away
Waiting again for the moon to join our side
To lead us again through the winter night
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