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Loath the last of day and thus, Delight in me, the evening comes, Encroaching dear the start of dusk, My blood, it runs, The final reach, nocturnal conduct must. Beckoned forth this living crust, Heaving darkness, sunshine shuns, Sweet Moonlight comes that I can trust, The heartbeat drums, The night is all, the darkness that I lust. Trailing underfoot the just, For the soul that follows now, Entreat the senses with no fuss, I’m free somehow, The dimwit night, that’s rolling on the dust. ©dbyrne may 2014

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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