Night is a down and fury.
Crashing down on the cold and dreary.
Struck in the fields till the sun is done.
Working until all light is gone.
Wishing to run to the dory.
But fearing to get caught by the dignity in all their glory.
So they tug on until their legs get weak.
Missing the time at the creak.
Entranced by the sweet perfumes.
Loving the cluster of plumes.
Now only with the tears.
Controlled by their biggest fears.
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