I can't write poetry
   in the sun . . .

Give me darkest nights
     and undercover I will run

Let no light penetrate my eye
    lest it be by stars and comments going by


From hiding all my words
        come out

They hate the sun I know
       now without a doubt

They like to bask in glow
        of moon

Conversing amongst the
           punctuations . . .

is it now or when or way
             too soon

They start to shuffle before
           'say daylight

Anxious with intent ,
   hurried on now by their
        plight

First rays they soon all
        disappear
           . . . . . .

Well I will be waiting
          out the day
It's not like waiting
         for years and years

Soon the sun will be getting
                   tired

And deep inside I will be gettiing . . .
       
             so inspired