And whatever else that may all mean, I
send you my kisses and dour dreams. Let
me stay together, one more night, just to
remind myself of you. Star light, star bright,
first star I see tonight, wish I may and wish
I might....and oh my goodling-God the rest.
There's no rest for the wicked, as I've heard
you say. Some strange Algonquin language
gets it all askew. That rest we're all taking of,
that rest is for the weary. As in 'Ah Sunflower,
weary of time, who countest the steps to the
Sun, and seeketh after that sweet, golden
clime when the trav'ler's journey is done.'
That one, Hiawatha, that one. Bury
me not on the lone prairie?