The moon dilates before the morning wakes,
An eye that winks as darkness yields to dawn.
I squint this brightness and the sleep it takes;
Unimpressed, I answer with a yawn.
Yet night is night and day is day I fear,
The hands of time harass us without cease.
With doleful drudge we keep the pace of years,
Towards our bed of everlasting peace.
There's room enough upon this sheet of white,
Cool the pillow, warm the place we lay;
Together we caress the face of night,
Dreaming timeless on the Milky Way.
And when our final precious evening looms,
The moon will watch us, cradled, in our tombs.