Sometimes when you couldn't sleep it off
you'd go outside and sing to the cows.
And they'd sing back, moon, moon.
I could hear you all night from my room,
a bull in stall, blowing across
the top of the bottle.  I can hear you now,
here, in this room, as I have, poem
after poem.  As just a moment ago, almost
dawn, you came breaking back into the house.
My father's house, my room. You couldn't
sleep it off.  You went out into the dark,
got lost, almost.  I hear the cows.
And the moon's still up, the doomed moon.
And all this time I've stayed awake with you.

--Stanley Plumly