poems in the night

no matter how clear the line must fade
unremembered save in the deep of night
words struggle to stay sharp and bright
this is the nature of the muse's trade
you dig into the mind without a spade
and turn up nothing that's exactly right
beneath that soil there's never any light
and yet at ending there's a shiny blade
where we came in the door will close
our passage will not disturb much dust
and yet plain words tell what we know
there's more inside than we suppose
the answer requires hope and trust
and in the passage we may see a glow