Twelve Bells
The clock strikes twelve bells,
the time is here,
all in their minds
seemed reasonably clear.
Time to go home
and find one's bed,
uncertainty may be welcomed
for others instead.
Light breaks
as the horizon starts to shimmer,
pillows and blankets
lay a peculiar shape.
Eyes are closed soothing pain
from the cheer and wine,
now the pillows are moving,
it is not too late.
The telephone rings
which hangs on the wall,
the alarm clock goes off
from down the hall.
The blinds shutter up and down
dazzling sparkling light all around.
The fan overhead
circulates the air,
cooling the pillows
nestled between our hair.
Sleepiness is calling
and the pillows now quaint,
the simpler days
of collegiate dates.
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