|
 |
|
Get Me Through This Night By T.D. Boisvert Do I stay here under this pavillion, or do I run back home in the rain with my shoulders weeping and the wind in the trees gone mad? Do I dare to venture to the world where young men went before, to die amongst the lines and the light of the night? Can you rescue me from this narrow little house, sorrow and all, from these fields I pick all day on my own? Will you take me there or here, or anywhere far from here, just anywhere? Will I fall asleep again, like I always do, on a bed of leaves and thorns and dreams? Will I wake up in the morning and see the sun shine again, yellow in the sky, sheep in the field, babies in my arms, tearstains on my pages? Dear God, get me through this night. Back to Tim's Short Stories |