Some so fear the night,
with every breath they say, "Myself." - 
with every tear they cry, "I die!"
with such a rain of pain -
we, too, lust for bright of day.


Others go silent into night -
walk through the park of our humanity -
with breath that parts no air -
steps that bend no grass -
disturbing no thing as they pass.


				Brandywine
				12/20/95