It looks as though the moon has failed
once again to lull me to sleep this night;
how I long for the sandman to hover near,
to kiss his glittering dust on my eyelids
until I grow drowsy and sink behind them
to dream of Eden where I am needed as
the high priestess, in her glorious robe
woven with silvery moonbeams, to perform
the rites of spring to usher the luscious
visages into the palm of the land. I wonder
if the sandman would linger near to see
if I can really wake Eden and engulf it
in the fire of passions giving it the
most lustrous spring Eden ever had...
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