The Nightjar

Puerile jabs efficiently

Unveil in crisp transparency

The Night Jar's hidden lust to be

The very stuff of Freedom.

But finally in my grasping hand

Covetous, I beg you to understand

So delicate, so inarticulate

My prodigy begot of Freedom.

Indebted although I am to thee

To my Eternal Dawn concessions will be

But please let me have what is special to me?

I beg you my chance to write Freedom.

Although tortured by festivity

100 glasses (or immeasurable maybe)

Clink their nods and tip their cups

In gesture: exaltation.

As suddenly does poor Whip-poor-will call,

While changes the sun ever over et al.

Perpetual, unyielding, relentless I stall.

And I listen!

Will y'all listen?

To Freedom.