.-.. .. .-.. -.-- / .- -. -. .

Strike at the shadow as it nears the bed,

Let every pulse deny the creeping chill,

Though quiet fields await the sleeping head,

Burn through the gray before the spark is shed,

And force the heavy, fading clock to will.

​The fragile should not meekly slip away,

To leave a silent room, an empty space

Tear at the borders of the ending day,

Refuse the peace that coaxes you to stay,

And hold the light upon your fading face.

​My Lily Anne, a fierce and sudden spark,

Too bright to vanish in an easy sleep,

Rebel against the closing of the dark,

Leave on the void a blinding, burning mark,

And fight the silence that the shadows keep.