Morning Glory

I lit my purest candle close to my
Window, hoping it would catch the eye
Of any vagabond who passed it by
And I waited in my fleeting house

Before he came I felt him drawing near
And as he neared I felt the ancient fear
That he had come to wound my door and jeer
And I waited in my fleeting house

"Tell me stories, " I called to the hobo
"Stories of cold, " I smiled at the hobo
"Stories of old, " I knelt to the hobo
And he stood before my fleeting house

"No, " said the hobo, "No morе tales of time
Don't ask me now to wash away thе grime
I can't come in 'cause it's too high a climb"
And he walked away from my fleeting house

"Then you be damned!" I screamed to the hobo
"Leave me alone, " I wept to the hobo
"Turn into stone, " I knelt to the hobo
And he walked away from my fleeting house