Some people have parties.

They jump, and shout, and scream;

Drinking, laughing, smiling.

But I write poems.

I sit in meadows at night

And stare at the moon.

Here there is no crowd,

No lost flock of wand’ring souls.

Just a breath of peace in the air,

And a smile from a lonely star.

Some people live for the feeling.

But I write poems,

I command the feeling.