The back door
The would be thief goes in
See the glitter of gold
As he opens each drawer
He sits on the leather seat
Smoking pipe drinking canned coffee
He pretends he is helping
He smiles at the back door
The night dim
He dares let others see
What he is doing
In the soft silver light
He scoops up what he wants
Leaving no tell tale signs
Out through the back door
In his BMW he drives out to the darkness
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