Back Yard

 Shine on, O moon of summer.

Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.


An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an
 accordion.

A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next
 month; to-night they are throwing you kisses.


An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits
 in a cherry tree in his back yard.


The clocks say I must go--I stay here sitting on the
 back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down.


 Shine on, O moon,
Shake out more and more silver changes.

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