Sleep sent you playing to a lovely tune.
Snow on the street floated in clouds
Outside your dormer window.
You were fat with dreams.
Hours on the wall did not stop
Their round-bout waltz, neither the
Cat nor the bird swallowed a love.
Your deafer dreams played on.
All night the roses blooming
Behind your garden walls:
In waker houses people pulled
The garbage to the curbs.
You slumber on, my slow-blood friend,
But you are almost gone.