Make my
sorrow pride.
Enter me with light.
Mourning turns to morning,
Or so I would believe.
Reach me with your tide.
Inundate this blight.
Awaken me with longing,
Lest I live to grieve.
Deaf, dumb, blind inside,
All I am is night,
Yet too frail to leave.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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