TIME BEFORE MIDNIGHT

that time before midnight

Where all my dre In ams become nightmares

I awake to the sound of murmuring voices

Through my just open door

The deep orange glow

Lights the top of my dresser

And there a neatly folded handkerchief

Somehow the object of their talk

Is heavy with purpose.

Paralyzed with tension

Won’t someone come and help me

But they carry on talking about their sweet little hanky

Along the landing is a room

I had not noticed before

Leading through into a ward of dimly lit beds

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