The things that grow in the night come to meet halfway
With the things that glow at the far edge of the street lights
At the borders of the impenetrable dusk of some enchanted forest
Where dreams linger like the lost souls in the wastelands of limbo
Forsaken and the surprised by the hand of death with no spare penny to pay the ferryman
Caught unawares by the night, they wander hopelessly around the lamps and the fires
After endless hours, the dark forces of night will start to retreat, chased by a cold-blue dawn
Photo Hugh Ardoin The Night-Shift Gallery