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.