(Poem) Never Bow to the Grind of Labor

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(Poem)
In those lonely moaning hours of the night,
where you’d see not a soul in the wake of your path.
On a cool and eerie summer twilight with a gloomy rain,
you’d seldom see me in my office writing away.
 
For the best of summer days to me are night,
and it’s the cool silence with the humble whispers of nature,
that tingle and enlighten my senses,
as the rain tap dances on the brim of my worn wool hat.
 
No destination, no goal for these tired legs and weary eyes,
for the thundering rain has no hospitality for the vagabond.
So for it’s entirety I wander on in the darkened silence,
listening to the hum of the distant flickering streetlights.
 
Until the grey skies push away the twilight,
this is my escape from the mundanity of my work.
it’s not the morning days or summer eves I yonder for,
But the rain soaked midnights and howling wind.

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