| The Bowl Above The nocturnal sky
That's over and up,
Imbibe it, I,
The o'erturned cup...
I swallow the stars,
That scattered light,
And drink of Mars
And Venus so bright.
I quaff the moon,
Its crescent aglow,
And swallow it soon
And gulp it below...
A meteor a-streak
Is barely a sip,
Almost a sneak
To escape the lip.
And the vessel's rim,
It touches round;
Where tree and limb
And earth are found
And there, so lowly,
By wood and hill,
Is ladled so slowly,
The bowl its fill.
O may I by night,
Always savor
This celestial sight,
The cup with flavor.
— John Riedell |