Spare Poem

I fall back to my bed, each night with hope on my breast
Twinkle became the blinking of stars up the skies
When the cold that burn all peoples chunk of fat
And the sight of the solemn clouds are manna to the eyes

The grim colors of the falling darkness gather
Moths, ants, earwigs, everything find their way home
A lot; memories, hope, dreams, a night stay to gather
Where there is a will, dreams become even fatsome

The sweet twilight dance before me, a stranger
Dust of foreign lands embellish my darkened face
The weather is cruel to strangers, the sun itself a trickster
When the mornings come all become tense

The night is like firecrackers, the clouds glitter
Small stars, big stars, all shine in happy unison
A stranger retires to his bed, a dream to gather
And the wind is a lullaby and a gentle song