Monday, November 25, 2013

Perchance

A poem born of a bit of insomnia.

      Perchance

Sleep moves around the world
in a wave of yawns and sighs,
and for each who dozes smilingly,
another wakes and cries,
but where slumbers overlap,
they may share dreams or dread,
while where sleepers intertwine
they may spend the day in bed.

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