An Almost Midnights’ Summer Dream
The rustle of leaves
Of the winds of ten o'three.
Stars blink in the vast Nebraskan skies
In a place of corn, a look up can make you cry.
Nyx looks down, lulling you to sleep
Nights the best time to think deep.
crickets play their songs
Chirp, Chirp Chirp, Chirp
Since you've seen these skies, it's been a yearlong.
Wildgrass pulls you down, it's time to sleep.
one, two three, count the sheep.
You don't want to sleep,
You beg, cry and plea
The last thing you see is eleven fifty-three