Maybe it is the springtide. I am so happy I am afraid. The sense of living fills me with exultation. I rise and through the window stare . . . And as I've nothing else to do, Of tea I'll make a rousing brew, And coax my pipes until they croon, And chant a ditty to the moon.
Inspiration comes with every sip.
Now for the moon. A bland sultana of the night, Surveying realms of lily light.