Nocturne

Deep under the blanket of space

Beneath a fluffy quilt of stars

Sleep soft and silent.

Until the scream of the twelve-handed tyrant

Clocks you with the chill of daylight

An assault and battery of being

Eyes opened wide to pain rather than sight

The world is a bitter foe, armed with cosmos and chaos

Irresistable, unassailable

If we may not rest, let us make music.

Let us make all the music we can.

Let us fill the chill air with beauty,

With truth, and with love.

Until at last comes the mattress of earth,

The banquet of blankets,

The gardens and the forests.

If we must wake, let us wake to music.

And let us leave much music in the air

So that those who follow us may also arise to song.