Saxophone plays a sultry tune,
Two lovers make images in the moon,
Autos trace lines of the highway
As I stand alone in the gateway....
All is peaceful and serene
Upon this lonely stage,
I'm afraid to get down
To upset this proud heritage....
You, midnight, have graced my skyline
With a blanket of cool ebony,
Made with the finest blends of silk
Only worthy of one with your celebrity.
Poetry has the last word.