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A 1920 memory
My violet viola sings grace
Faces float on the horizon
All are mine to taste
Some are less enticing
Her rosy red was a fuss
That didn't matter to me
Us dreamers tended to flush
When prospects turned to 'we'
And I am lover of wry
So while the habit's heavy; I'll quit
Our condonement covers the sky
As if every mistake were a gift
I sleep as if there is no daylight
Daylight's days are yet to dawn
For now, night has me knowing
What is there is to be gone
