Children, drunken in the last rays of sun,
squeeze every last drop from these hours,
as spectres of the world
are swallowed, and they,
clinging to this day,
deny the night.
To bed! To bed!
They will not go.
We who know,
at some point,
the child must sleep,
lay ourselves down willingly,
and surrender to our shadows.
Sleeping, we dream.
Blinking, we rise again,
seeing clearer than before.
The Shadows Gone.
To us, the world is new.
–To Us, The World is New, Regina Green
A love letter written to myself.
To Whom It May Concern 