Most sleep then wake then sleep then work
Until they die or go berserk
Does it make my life all that poor
If I just sleep a little more?
Low sun in afternoons in May
Nostalgia for a childhood day
Despite my longing, this implies
Now, too, I’ll soon romanticise.
Inky wash lulls amber glow
My same old shadow walks below
A far bell tolls the eventime
I feel less peaceful; more benign.
Ears ring in silence. Mind begins
More fracturedly to think of things
For now, I’ll let awareness wane
‘Til morrow when I start again.