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It's midnight in the city, a gently falling rain, just the odd car passing, the distant rumble of a train

I sit here and listen to the creatures of the night, listen because I can't see them, they stay out of sight

One sounds stands out above the rest, continually it's heard. Even in the darkest hours the singing of a bird

I know not what she looks like, is she colourful or drab? Well I don't really care that much because her songs are never sad

All night she sings while others sleep, her songs so loud and clear, bringing happiness in the darkness to all who are there to hear

Why does she sing her sweet refrain through the long hours of the night? Perhaps she sings for those of us who have to stay awake

Then come the early morning light and a mighty choir is heard, no human intervention just a choir of singing birds

It's with reluctance that I must leave this place with the coming of the light. But later I'll be back again to hear her singing through the night
Written one wet night while on security duty and yes she did sing
  Jan 2015 Larissa Crepaldi Doreto
ink
The artist adds another stroke
Every night

He hates to see his paint
wasted on such an ugly canvas

He tells himself
Maybe tomorrow I wont waste it

But painting has become such a habit
that it seems like he cant stop

until all his paint
is gone
try looking a little bit more into it
1452

Your thoughts don’t have words every day
They come a single time
Like signal esoteric sips
Of the communion Wine
Which while you taste so native seems
So easy so to be
You cannot comprehend its price
Nor its infrequency

— The End —