Wait for Me

Wait for me

In the place past midnight

Where the second hand marches into eternity

Away from the banality of hours

And the drudgery of minutes

We are told these dark empty spaces

Should raise us from sleeps

Or at least tighten

Our fetal clutches

In some unmade terror.

But this is where we come to meet

And stroll freely through

These dark hills

Shouldering winding paths

Fringed in the bright flowers unfolding

After a passing spring shower.

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