I make another circuit of the lawn,
And pad through shadows at my own slow pace,
Watching and waiting for the coming dawn.

Depressed and restless, yawning and forlorn,
I follow my self-beaten path’s faint trace
And make another circuit of the lawn

Along the narrow way my steps have worn
Around and round again to the same place,
Watching and waiting for the coming dawn.

Somewhere the valleys still stand thick with corn,
Somewhere a field is fringed with Queen Anne’s lace,
I make another circuit of the lawn.

Somewhere a mother cries, a child is born,
Somewhere a worried woman lifts her face,
Watching and waiting for the coming dawn.

The last grey rags of night are rent and torn,
There steals upon my heart some secret grace,
I make one final circuit of the lawn
And stand my ground, to face the coming dawn.

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