Sleep stalks a young child
and the moon romances the night
upon whose breast she rests.
Dreams fly in and out
of open windows, some sit
on their favourite windowsills
and watch peaceful faces,
limp limbs with curled fingers.
I sit on the edge of your bed
with my hand on your heart
and together
with the dreams of the universe
I watch over your sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment