Sleepy Neighborhood Street
The trees are softly shadow-laden,
the world is half-asleep,
along the street the tidy homes
all sigh in dreaming deep.
The echo of the children's playing
still sings inside the head,
a distant echo of a time
when we were not a-bed,
but nearer still is pixie-singing
of secret realms of dream;
through each dark window in the street
unearthly kingdoms gleam.
We find our strangest voyaging
when to our beds we keep;
when trees are sighing, shadow-crowned,
and we are half asleep.