Everything scatters as the night wears on:
but you, don't scatter, will you?
I think we could make this night last forever.
With our joined heads, like mathematicians,
we could work all night, so that
where night once was, work would be; and night,
as long as work went on, would never end.
It is starting to sound a little tiring:
all this working, just to stave off morning.
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Comments about this poem (Effect by Dan Chiasson )
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