Troubadour Nights

The campfire heat and moonlight  
in midair fell in love  
and went and danced all through the night  
in consequence thereof.  
 
The moonbeams were a pale gold  
beyond the amber flames  
because their space is very cold  
in dark entropic shames.  
 
Both owe their lives to caustic Sol  
as their echoes flower  
all through autumn's lengthening call  
for more solar power!  
 
A call increasing day by day  
to which night children dance  
where poet souls all love to play...  
with comely maids from France!