Morning Glory

I lit my purest candle close to my

Window, hoping it would catch the eye

Of any vagabond who passed it by

And I waited in my fleeting house

Before he came I felt him drawing near

As he neared I felt the ancient fear

That he had come to wound my door and jeer

As I waited in my fleeting house

"Tell me stories," I called to the hobo

"Stories of cold," I smiled to the hobo

"Stories of old," I knelt to the hobo

And he stood before me and my fleeting house

"No," said the hobo, "no more tales of time

Don't ask me now to wash away the grime

I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb"

And he walked away from my fleeting house

"Then you be damned!" I screamed to the hobo

"Leave me alone," I wept to the hobo

"Turn into stone," I knelt to the hobo

And he walked away from my fleeting house