(A lone voice whispers)
When the sky reaches for the sun and the last memories switch off as the day is done.
When the moon is in full bloom, illuminating my room.
As rose-petal dreams gradually drift in. Slowly and seductively slithering like sin.
Behind the rose and mist. There comes a precious gift.
A prize to lift.
Rebirth in the morn when all troubles once owned have flown.
(C) John Duffy
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