It is on the darkest of nights,
The strangest of nights,
With no expectations,
No aches and no pains,
No plans for the morrow,
That the soul lights up.
It is on all those other nights,
The most common of nights,
With great expectations,
Longing and hurting,
Planning and scheming,
That the soul dies a little.
And then, there is tonight,
Child of the strange and common
Where I find myself
Shivering
Shivering
Sh…
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