They are all asleep
The wise men of market-places
And money-changers
But the night is deep
Filled with mystic faces
And friendly strangers…
…and the cloud on the horizon
Is the softest purple-gray
If I would lay here sleeping
It would simply drift away
Without the admiration
And the whisper of a sigh
Or the memory of a moment
When, against the silky sky
We walked all night long together
You were there and I was here
And if we had just been sleeping
I would not fight back the tear
That glistens in the midnight
Like a star within my eye
While above, on heavens table
Gleams the moon, a silver pie
And the mere handful of minutes
Which expand to full blown hours
Are like daisies in my pocket
When the sky is filled with showers
So I cannot be a wise man
Sound asleep at half-past nine
For the night is far too glorious
And you, my dear, are fine
With the moonlight ‘gainst your olive skin
Your lips against my ear
Oh, it seems that once again
The night is far too short, I fear…
...they are all asleep
the wise men of fortune
or its fantasy
But the night is too deep
and I feel you breathing
somewhere inside of me...
Janet~
