london winter eve
it is not even six o'clock and i am already sailing to the moon on this most enchanting evening. it is a crisp preparation for winter mild enough to motivate frenzies of activity of prowlers and lurkers along the streams and tributaries in a day of evening. cartoon characters of men march the streets with chests out in blatant disregard for motored vehicles larger than their swiftly gait. the moon is worth sailing to with you, who knows me well enough to sing me the problems you have with me.