“There they are”, she says,

“how noteworthy, how noble under bastions of light

these gentlemen in tea-coats and cummerbunds.

They tilt their caps to passing ladies

with “adieu” and “hail, and well met, sweet girl.””

“Quickly”, she says,

“step lightly toward the dawn

and, before the shivering, cold dew of morning,

pin the drops that fall to the ground

with footsteps, trim, and gayly tripping.”

When one decides for time and chance,

fortune’s wind of destiny depletes itself

amid the wild, barren tapestry of evening –

and stops to sigh and, with delight, gently whispers

“goodnight.”