Another jar of honey

Some night I'll leave the sheet down over my open window, allowing the breeze to blow through the room, puffing out the fabric so it looks like a ship's mast. In those moments, I like to pretend my bed is part of this ship and I'm coasting through the open waters on a cloudless, starry night. After all, sleep is a time to regain lost innocence, right?

I pretend I'm traveling the world with Max to the place where the Wild Things are. I imagine we're drifting along waters drawn by Harold and his purple crayon, while Winnie-the-Pooh continues to search the ship for one more jar of honey. We sail under a bright, full moon, bidding it goodnight as we sail on.

Poetry: "We Are The Music-Makers"

"We Are The Music-Makers" by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.


With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample and empire down.


We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.