Poetry

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Night (The Singing Man)

written by: gilligan3

Tip Tap, Tip Tap go the singing man's shoes
As he hums along the quiet lamplit lane
Twirling around and swinging his arms melodically
As he glides across the glowing stepping stones in the dark

Pools of light his only relent in the darkness of the city
Night does not not seem to fit this harmonious character
Yet she fills his every move with gentle grace
And his soft tuning fills her with beauty

Then it all stops swiftly, strangely, sadly
Alas what sees in silent anger our singer
That could halt his humming so horribly
Maybe love, maybe hate, maybe passion in all it's disgrace

A woman struggles against what the night has brought her
For tho she apears inviting, to invite was not what she intended
Now thinks Passion's son she must pay for the way she is dressed
But our singing friend knows that just won't do

For one must indeed pay, but not for misconcieved attire
But misconcieved desires in the heart of man
And so he shows this poor fool his love is naught but lust
Leaving him to examine his soul in disgust
Saving said misguided little lady to wonder
Who he was and where he has gone

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