An Almost Midnights’ Summer Dream

The rustle of leaves

Of the winds of ten o'three.

Stars blink in the vast Nebraskan skies

In a place of corn, a look up can make you cry.

Nyx looks down, lulling you to sleep

Nights the best time to think deep.

crickets play their songs

Chirp, Chirp Chirp, Chirp

Since you've seen these skies, it's been a yearlong.

Wildgrass pulls you down, it's time to sleep.

one, two three, count the sheep.

You don't want to sleep,

You beg, cry and plea

The last thing you see is eleven fifty-three