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?
~ ~ ~