Come in, sternly wearing consequence,
to white noise and the smell of rain,
cowards and braves waltzing together
to the gift of sleep we all share.
Yet a mosquito looms in baby's room
and God's eyelids keep resting low;
carry on trying to strike a match,
tucked from the trickling monsoon.
Before wings are granted, one last thing to do.
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nice.
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