Please, cipher my handwriting,
Never turn a single page,
The aura is inviting.
Wrap me in your finest sage.
My pillow of old letters,
Blanket of distinguished prose,
My bedclothes of stained betters,
My dreams of higher shadows.
Write me a line of your choice,
Fill my mind with pages,
Sing silently and rejoice!
Oh, how the paper ages.
Count my sheep on my behalf,
Note their names and character,
And send it by telegraph.
To my woeful narrator.
