Like curtains drawn when day is done. I close out light, I block the sun. I guard the windows of your soul, and lift again to make your vision whole.

John and Paul and George and such, teeming throngs dearly want to touch.

I sound like sweetness, a pet name; I was a scourge, stoker of war's flame.

Printed. Dyed. Under a tie. Cotton or poly. Full sleeved or shy. Remove just one letter, its profane in its cry. The upper half’s sheath. Some pocketed high.

Take a common measure of milk, add an ‘e’. Sailed after stolen on the seven seas.