Worth of one night

On the brink of dawn in motionless form,
Within a blur and course of groggy thought
Questions spew swift as a rigorous storm
Mended of paces and memory wrought.
“Hath thee molded thy midnight worth thy time
Enough to span beyond time’s rigid hand?”
To answer knowing the question is mine
Shall be another bewildering land
Soon sought by scholars, not thy foolery.
And thine evening having one moon alone
With doors wasted, the chances a plenty
Shall purpose only to be writ; some shown.
Thoughts of thine wasted doors, waltzes past ten,
Shall haunt thy mind. “May it happen again.”