the march of time

darkness had set its face across

the outside of life so I guess I was sleeping.

but this much I know; I know I wasn't screaming.

I don’t scream in my sleep, not that I’d be aware of such a thing,

and besides, no one has made accusations.

anyway, I'm certain that’s something to be reported to the authorities.

alas! my bedroom door flew open, and it got hot under the covers.

I asked of the intruder: “who the hell are you”?!

ashen-faced he cried aloud about the suffering of humanity,

so I surmised it was an angel sent to me to report the skinny

on the goings on of the neighborhood.

nope. y’know who it was? It was Herbie Oglevee Morrison!

and man, I gotta tell ya,–– that’s a guy who knew

how to belt-out a story!