I spend my nights among
ethereal, brilliant beings
They speak in a low tone,
their looks are tender,
wit me them I feel at home
We walk, or rather float
on waves of energy –
hours of blessed quiet,
my nights are short

By day I’m fated to
hurry along with strangers,
swarms of unfriendly being of my race –
hard looks, harsh voices;
their bad temper casts a shadow
over my work, over my rest.
I wonder what we vie for, why contend –
rush job, rush hours,
we’re wasting our lives rushing about.