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Scared of the dark

I walk to work, a mingling mile,
I am touched, I shirk, to be less a while,
I try as I may, to hide where I stand,
I make much of the day and the letters in hand.
I hope for the morning before evening arrives;
I fall claustrophobic into night as a child.
I reach out to lessen, the colorless cling,
I shake at this lesson of which I am king.
Make morning, make morning, tell me the day,
That your night has come calling, but has now gone away.

by John McConway

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