Classic Poem

I will blow my last song to the moon's dingy door
Hastily sealed; I will blow my song through the slit,
Through the cobwebbed crevice between the door and the floor
Where hairy old moon-spider grandmothers nod and knit
I will blow my last song.

Then some night when the wind rustles velvety thick
With moist yellow jasmin-stars, and the smell of rain
Drifts an impatient silver, the door will click
Dreamily ajar, and misty with moon-spider skein
My last song will blow down.