I awoke in darkness beneath the moon
Where the light was dim, but for a slender ray
That fell upon my face, and none other.
Orchards of dreams were disguised
As beggars crooning a song of desolation,
And the profligate morning birds
Were still asleep, resting their dainty warbles.
It was late and the insomniac moon
Played cold music in my ears,
A seashell hum foot-tapping
To the beat of toss-turning dreams.