Reaching through the darkness in the long, dark night,
a soul might lose it way, fall away, if not for the light, beckoning.
All in white they stand before the throne of light,
shining through the hollow pumpkins, porchlights, tealights,
singing softened only by the hum of electricity, made harmless,
harnessed; there is nothing to be frightened of.
At midnight, when the lights are out and the world is darkest,
all the saints reach through the night and dawn quietly upon us.
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