She sang she couldn't get to sleep at all;

each pill, each trick, was just a waste of time.

The jukebox gave me her heart-melting voice

for just a quarter. Or was it a dime?

Forty years ago. More! I would rejoice

to hear the mellow, slightly maudlin tune

Marilyn wove from an unmade phone call,

from wakeful darkness and a sleepless moon.

Those were the days of AM radio,

of Nixon, Agnew, Watergate, and Ford:

names from the newspapers that I ignored.

Such youthful innocence! Where did it go?

With last spring's blossoms. Hey! I've found the song

on YouTube. Has it really been that long?