Fred Littell
It happens in the still of the night,
The time long after sunset,
The time when the sky is a soft deep blue-black,
Soft, and scattered with gentle stars;
It happens, beginning almost imperceptibly,
Starts with a soft music in the mind,
The tapes start rolling,
The theater of the mind is open;
The scenes of the past life,
The scenes of lost love,
Sounds of voices now long gone,
The soft night closes in and whispers in his ear,
Are you ready to leave yet, I’m here
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