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Finishing Time

It’s darker in here than out there.

At dusk

Light fades quicker in stale air.

And screams

Of kids that are not me, or you, or goats.

At last

Are quietened with milk and night-time prayers.

 

It’s darker up here than down there

At home

Where streets are the reserve of far-away.

At rest.

And lights are dimming while they pray

As day

And they, go in to rest.

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Written by
la-flaneuse
Irish
Published
Jul 13, 2010
Lines·Words
14·69
Permission

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