COME, quietly the night, as I lay riddled with perplexity and confounding notions.
In all I have rendered useless, there is still an itch yearning TO be scratched.

Like the beast at the door, or so I thought.
Yes, I must have imagined the howl, calling ME.
I howled to my best ability in return, no avail.
What beast would call to THIS?

I must lay to rest these evening daydreams.
These late NIGHT machinations of my simple mind.
To wake in the morning and bear in heart and mind that no beast is howling this name.