The hour of magic when two worlds meet,
Half dreaming, still asleep, slightly awake,
Alerted by a voice before daybreak,
Like one who sleepwalks, weaving on his feet.
I have a pen, the rest is mystery,
Pieces have not begun to fall in place.
With what intention do I fill each space?
After thinking my finger strikes a key,
First letter of a word in my mind’s eye,
And followed by the next. To get it right,
Allow me in the dark a little light.
Choosing one, then another will reply,
Finding its brother after being found,
Seeking the next and last to form a line.
There is more to discover in this mine,
More to surface, still buried underground
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