Someone’s joy is clear as a day
As a night dances on drumbeat.

At twelve of my night someone
Either weds or is just shrouded,

As Emily non-wife envelop poet
Would say of a woman’s wedded

Bliss, if it were indeed her bliss
Till shrouded in her due course.

We are living in age of spectacle.
Veil or shroud ,there is the drum

To beat on our midnight’s sleep
And a poem to celebrate a drum.

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