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Listening to the night becoming very still about us, as the neighbors' windows darken, hear the children's gentle weeping. now the world will turn without us and we'll speak in hushed whispers, while there's no na echo of the chorals of the laughters or the sound of water splas or the sleepy conversations, share these quiet moments after, speaking low in hushed whispers. often we had dreamed by the fire dying light, some of those dreams have passed. still it isn't enough to be shelter by the darkness, lovers again at last.
