• Days Under Heaven
    By N.A. Triantaffelow

    Twas a warm and wicked morning
    The day of Waking Sleep.
    We sat under an apple tree
    The words she spoke I keep.

    And I asked her there,
    I did not care,
    "Why does it have to be?"
    My feelings shown,
    My dear had known,
    "Why is indeed the key."

    Twas a dark and stormy evening
    The night of Waking Sleep.
    I sat under an apple tree
    The words I spoke I keep.

    And myself I told,
    Tonight was cold,
    "But a promise I shall keep."
    My dear did go,
    From this place I know,
    "And until you wake... I sleep."