How late have I been waking lately; there Is that resplendent sunlight gone; so soon It's spent before long, leaving me the Moon To sing oblations with in shaking air. Awaiting something? Taking heart from where? The bending hours of lunar song attuned To tender fears of something wrong that's hewn In slates of time's delineating shares. With idleness beside assurances Deciding where I work's irrelevant, Despairing then to care for anything, Abiding all these tried endurances Belied with shared ennui so evident That erring in comparing must I sing.