I don't like the Night. It catches me
Unaware, though I have been standing at the window exchanging
Parting Pleasantries with the Sun;
It catches me Unaware.
I remain ill-prepared for the Death of the Day, though the sickness of late
Afternoon waxes Pungent with decay;
It catches me Unaware.
Darkness blossoms in growth spurts, as forbidding shadows race to envelop the very
Air around me. Twilight is no delicate gown; I shiver, for
It catches me Unaware.



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