When I'd sail upon the moon boat,
I would think of all I have got,
An old dime in my left pocket,
In the right, one gifted locket,
umpteen shades of memory,
from my mind's secret brewery,
my palm drawn upside in space,
upon which once your hand you placed,
twinkling under fair, raining light,
all I have would come to sight,
another pocket, another thing,
a time-old letter that gave me wings,
what else do I do have,
nothing much I could save,
but yes, there's too, this crimson glow
which my heart refuses to show,
it used to unlock in someone's arms,
and I've lost those keys long ago.