Single-Handedly

The Lamp Post

Come dance in the fog
that swirls around,
and the dazzle of rain
that gladdens the ground.

The beams of the moon
that pick through the dew
now brighten the night
and frighten the gloom.

A shroud covers all,
and I see in the midst
of the cloud-dousèd night
a release in the mist.

The clock tolls none,
and through the gloom —
or what was gloom —
the colors run.

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