The night grew dark and lights I lit

And by the table, here I sit

The window, open, lights the grass

And by the cars and drivers pass

Do they, do they look within

While their ride is gliding by?

Or do they turn their heads and look

Into the house across the way?

It matters not, for I am here

Doing something still and true.

I look into my lighted screen

And type a poem just for you.

Diane E. Dockum

August 30, 2013