Little Red Room

In a corner

Of the Quarter,

There’s a place I know

Where bats don’t flutter,

Where the Moon won’t glow,

And a wrought iron door

With its ornate design

Swings open,

Yet hoping

To coax you inside.

From that little room

Seeps a dim red light,

Where the shadow of something

Drifts in and out of sight.

Jazz rolling softly,

Mingling with whimpers,

The whispers of misery,

The red light flickers.

And the wise among us

Know it’s time to cross the walk

When you reach the corner

And that red light flickers on

In a certain little room,

In the shadow of the Quarter.

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