We Wake And Whisper Awhile, But, The

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

The Sandy Cat By The Farmer's Chair Mews At His Knee For Dainty Fare; Old Rover In His Moss-greened House Mumbles A Bone, And Barks At A Mouse. In The Dewy Fields The Cattle Lie Chewing The Cud 'neath A Fading Sky; Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

So, Blind To Someone I Must Be.

All Day Long The Door Of The Sub-conscious Remains Just Ajar; We Slip Through To The Other Side, And Return Again, As Easily And Secretly As A Cat.

Poor Tired Tim! It's Sad For Him He Lags The Long Bright Morning Through, Ever So Tired Of Nothing To Do.