Slumber of Days

Young boys on backs do gaze
At the silvered night wings folding low
And strain to hear the soft song of the ancients
In the darkling sky

Below at water's edge casting nets under full moon's lamp
The whisper of the divine calls to the slave ships at sea
And beckons to the deep to raise the sunken vessels,
No sirens these, settled to sleep the sleep of the gentle shore

Thrice rings the midnight bell
To call the servants home, yet the reverie
Goes unanswered in the dark
In the twilight mystery, the broken bonds of liberty
Are buried deep within the earth, only to sprout again

Sweet liquor of night flow soft against the current
The tide knows no master
And neither the still calm of dawn
To wake the dead and dreaming from the slumber of days