At two, he didn’t want to go to bed;
For sleep meant missing out on many things

By eight, the day was pounded in his head:
But longed for magic only late night brings

At eighteen, all the night had opened up;
But morning held him long in her embrace

And now, he falls, but cannot stay, asleep;
The endless tired hours his soul erase

The boy who traded morning for night’s kiss
Now finds both lovers gone
Like morning
Mist