To: Edgar Allan Poe
No soon is sooner,
No truth in the sun.
No diamonds as pretty;
as loveliness willing.
To dream and not dream
in the summer.
I see a chance - that follows the
dance of angels descending
to the bliss - to a haven high in my head.
I hear harps strung-
so high a song.
The blues seem in the sea
seem for me;
Surely, someday an adventure.
It will come-
For now what fills the moon;
No soon is sooner-
No truth in the sun.
