The Sandman Conies
Elaine Borgonia
At nights I dream of no one else but you;
and in my mind I see you touch my hand
against a shady twilight background blue,
where waves dissolve my bitter songs to sand;
While all around the distant echoes bring
the voice of sweet Apollo singing high,
like golden butterflies in moonlight Spring
as Mount Olympus blows the dawn good-bye.
At two I find myself awake in bed
and realize you never held me close;
And heaven's song had died from vows unsaid.
The love you promised died a wilting rose.
Outside I heard the Sandman's raspy tune
in broken laughter, voices from the moon.
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