They’ll want a lamp
they can turn on by clapping

when the night comes in 
or the day is dark with rain.

They’ll use it more in winter,
the crypt where fears fester, 

and they hear their mortality
clearing its throat in the corner

In the room where they’d love you
to stay and stave off the shadows

they’ll want a lamp 
they can turn on by clapping

but you are the light of the sun.