The orange sky seemed to signal
The last wisps of a cloud
The sun had set, The stage was set
For Night to cast her shroud.
Many an eye closed to rest
For the coming day's toil
While the occasional nocturnal being
Maintained his vigil.
The lids may close, the heart
May beat at a slow regularity,
But the brain, Ah! that diligent
Worker won't stop his activity.
So it is, that man travels
To the magical land called Dreams,
Pleasant thoughts to make him smile,
Or a nightmare to make him scream.
A utopian world, to the logical,
Illogical it may seem,
But our wish is supreme, thought paramount
In that mystic realm.
When the sun rises to the cock's cry
Our dreams into thin air fade,
But the day was not for dreamers
But for the practical made.