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This waxing pregnant globe Hanging suspended in dark space Alive in cold fire Reflecting off sleeping windows Shut tight against the night Curtained lives. What pull and tug This bloated orb Brings to human life Can we say, for sure? Lover's entranced within tides Of electric passions. Will they dissipate upon the morn When reason returns with the light Of daily rhythms. When once again we return From the watch that ends the night. C.J.T. 5/13/03 |
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"Dream a Little Dream of Me"
Gus Kahn. W. Schwandt, and F. Andree, 1931
