From Rimsky-Korskov's strains wi' half a sense Of "magic" in Sheher'zade's fervid tale, To Kenny Chesney's singing in betrayl Was it of being kind to some soul fr'intents? To class'cal notes which yield me lo, from thence Fair visions of huge columned courts' detail, To ah, the Scriptures--Romans to avail Sense past all foolish thoughts and vain pretense. So drift off on that, eh? No. Yes, tis poor, But THIS wee stanza tugged at me, or to Effect the first lines rolled across in tour My silent tongue, til sleep feigned it would do. Yet earbuds in, hard rock came blasting fer Good taste in and, I'd rather sleep anew.