Darkness, fuzzy-grey like lint

At first, perhaps a subtle

Bolt of lightening strikes aslant

Across lids formed to cuddle

The glass domes now shut so tight.

A hurdle rises from the earth

To send me sprawling in fright,

to solid mattress. Angel’s mirth

surges then subsides, watching,

o’er resuming sighs, to calm

my mind. Swanning sleep will spring,

wrapping softly a soothing balm

to all worries, care and strife

where I’d like to waste away my life.


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