Port In The Night

For us Who dream about a Lonely bell Past vesper times Which rings and weeps: The port at night Is as the flower To the bee. We, The romantics, We Humans not romantic But with a percentage Romantic, however minimal, We, Flock to the Port As the night comes But now with feet Of flesh and bones But rather and often with The wings of brains. They be machines the same. The port waters We sip But drink not: Yet The delight in sipping So greater than the Delight in dreaming Those twilight waves The twilight in our mouths The twilight in our lips The twilight in our taste. In us And yet evanescent The twilight foments in The dark But sweetly Foments. Till the Dawn Many hours of night Before us stretch: The beauties of the dusk That dazzled us and Made us wild: Now Fade in higher beauties Of the night And I see vessel and small Boats kissing the waves They ply: And subdued machine sounds And flickering lights Most come and go The others go Just go In to the glorious night