Burning Lamps

I deal in floats
she deals in ties
some cards with coats
of arms signified
her hand rests on the top card
she’s on her guard

this empty street
well lit by night
no one walks near
just you in sight
one hundred burning lamps
are not waiting for the dead to rise

my throat has wings
will my words fly ?
head of a pin
ain’t no needles eye
I been talking to you for years
but this time
the night has a thousand ears

Copyright Hills Snyder, 1986

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