Ray Nicholson


The Night Was Dark

The night was dark,
And the moon hung in a beggar's hood.
The spindle birch,
Reached like a hand asking to take,
A moment of time if I'd just wait,
The hairs rose upon my neck and my head did shake
The breeze moved the arm,
As if the beggar now asked to trade because i hesitate.
I looked again,

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