I wake within the night and leap to feet.
I run to grasp the pen and pad, downstairs.
The bench will creak and groan and come to meet,
My legs and feet extend to end despairs.
The hesitating sounding of the keys.
The emulating motion of the waves.
The scratch of pen on pad creates the breeze,
Of sound and waves that meet the air and graves.
The soft resounding power of the note.
Creation of a new sporadic sound.
They spread and ripple in an even coat,
And give their love and joy to all around.
Returning now to bed and cover both.
The night of morrow sure to follow oath.
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