Foster The Good Night

Foster the night and kiss her lip's The moon is high in my hands. After having lived by day, upon her Breast's rests my head. For only in her ear at night, can I speak Of day, Day and what like I have done, I may not Speak at all. Father time is catching up the grape's are ripe, The fruit has all been picked. That moral voice that is no more that speaks, To what is done, but fooled it's not for us. The hay is sweet and green the tree's are tall, Wrapped in vines the once full bush now aged Can't speak at all. Naked amongst the rocks the sea it calls, And sand once white is turning red and foam once white Is brown. The day's are long and most are tired to tired To know what's right. And rare and far between we try to foster the Good night. Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2017