At least he is one will know the dawn

Unlike hapless dreamers retire ere come the moon.

He serves up another helping of his baseball

While Jane slumbers, worn tested of the day.

Him solitary posts indifferent sentry to her dreams,

Restless, yearning, weighs was it her intended,

Or would the night stay longer if ’twas Mary first

He held ‘midst golden daisies bloomed in meadow’s lush?

                     ~ ~ ~