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Night now lords it over leafy lanes
As the nocturnal scurry around
The feet of bare-twig trees.
The tick tock pulse of darkness
Has many hours to run
As the first strike of midnight chimes
In the sleeping rooms
Of the now bedded village.
Owls leave the rafters of barns
On missions of wide-eyed death,
And in a blink are satisfied.
A lemon drop moon
Watches from the safety of heaven
As the twelfth chime...
Echoes through the forest.