As I Waltzed, Amongst Thy Mid, Lit Moon. Poem by Michael Gale

I waltzed amongst the midnight blue...
Were I free, were I through?

I slept beneath the mid struck moon....
Was it late or early noon?

I fished amongst the wettest lagoon....
The fish be biting, not too soon.

I watched the stars, amongst the waves...
If I'd slipped, I'd join the graves.

Rehersed of life, was not I good...
Survived the night, if I could?

Amongst the natives, abreached naught bad....
Now remained, I, most bade, sad.

But, for the morn of deafened light...
I must be, the worse off sight.