In The Dim Evening

When I was a child, I’d stare at the wall

At the repetitive pattern and deeper in the covers – I’d crawl

For the print on the paper far from giving comfort at night

Would build up in me the greatest for fright

For the wallpaper pattern which I did see

Soon became faces staring back at me

In the daylight, mere golden fleur de lis

At night, were monsters intent on me to feed


Padre

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