The clock raised its hands in the dead of the night <br />and the street creatures fell into order. <br />Blackness fell back from the corner streetlight <br />as dark spaces between lost their border. <br />The clock dropped a hand one quarter ways down <br />and the memories of night were released. <br />The streetlamp shone bright like jewels in a crown <br />exposing an alley cat licking his feast. <br /> <br />The streetlamp so wise explained it this way: <br />“Behold the woman I bless with my glow, <br />she hides in the shadows far from display <br />and she, like others, thinks no one will know.” <br /> The clock ticks on and the night disappears: <br /> streetlamps stay silent embracing night fears.<br /><br />Amera Andersen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-life-of-a-streetlamp/
