the moon-cold boys, in their blue dusk flare,
sledging wide-eyed around the brazier nights,
and wrapped in a primordial exhilaration share,
the once and only, the might be mights.
and when the hearth home fades
into the monochrome,
and when the gossamer threads
stretch as thin as thin from home;
the boys unchained sledge down their nights,
wild-minded under a zeitgeist moon;
and tobogganing down from their haughty heights,
they crash out, the great fun ended, be it all too soon.