The Assembled Mind at Nighttime

Thrown high-and-dry, the street lamp is driven to say,
"On this night, this night no one is headed my way!"
You see, a streetlight with its eminent radiance
needs inhabitance the way an actor needs an audience.

But of course, it's night, and few are headed his way,
so both the owl and the rat emerge to keep him company.
The owl from his crag, the rat from his den,
a more motley crew, all the Academy could not summon!

But tonight, half-past-three, the clouds wait patiently,
for if they do, in due time, Algiers they shall soon see.
That is no reassurance, as due time can be long overdue,
so with the cabaret unfolding below they must make do!

The owl recites Greek, a rhapsody of repeated ecstasy,
while the rat cracks a smile and asks if he'd like some more tea.
The street lamp, whose name is Fred, is worried momentarily,
as he is not sure how his guests are able to speak so clearly.

The owl, pausing his paean, points his beak at the beam,
and deigns to respond; "music, the universal tongue of the supreme."
By this time the rat was already pouring his cream,
The delightful concoction giving him a cachinnating mien!

Oh my, oh my, oh my! Splendid representatives of the delegations
traveling incognito in preparation for the machination.
Imagination herself is at work tonight, chin bridled upon desk.
Yet little do our friends know that their meeting will cause
the magistrate of shibboleths grave distress!

You see, how is the owl to be familiar with rodent platitudes?
And furthermore, how could the rat distinguish the Socratic attitude?
Fred, recognizing this, is caught in quite a bind,
one that would be troubling to even the most furnished mind.

If a man embracing the shadows were to form a viable opinion,
he would surely be enticed far out of his usual dominion!
But before the strolling visitant's knees go weak,
he ought to remember that street lamps cannot speak.