The Bard's Call

Will the Bard, my mentor, sends this invite:
Awake, arise! 'tis midsummer night!


From day long sleep's stupor, I stutter my answer:
Er, What? Yes, no dream this! Wits to gather.


Eyes dazed by diurnal drudge's noonday sun,
Now open lids to welcome the night's moon.


Limbs, once yeomen to practical pursuits,
Grow supple, lithe: sprouts wings of thoughts.