Foxhole

Crouched in the dark
Too wired to sleep
Scratching out words
By dim candlelight

Writing to believe
This thing called love
Is real and true
When at first sight

Never knowing
Cares for plight
Thinks of them all
Under starry night

Will ever read
Or make reply
Moved on too quickly
Or said goodbye

Better to never
Know the truth
When belief in love
Is keeping alive

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