Under the harvest moon,When the soft silverDrips shimmeringOver the garden nights,Death, the gray mocker,Comes and whispers to youAs a beautiful friendWho remembers.Under the summer rosesWhen the flag

The grey sea and the long black land;And the yellow half-moon large and low;And the startled little waves that leapIn fiery ringlets from their sleep,As I gain the cove with pushing prow,And quench it

Every morning I lie there innocently sleepingWhen the peace is ruptured by a horrible beeping.My serenity ripped asunder, sudden and drasticBy this evil, demonic, red-eyed piece of plastic.I roll over