Sleep Poem by Morgan Michaels
Sleep
What can I say about Sleep?
Who tip-toes down the hall
In slippers each night;
Opens the door
Sits on the edge of the bed
It sinks
Her hands move quickly
Like a windmills' on a hilltop.
I do not want her. I wave her away
But the fringe on her glove is thick,
It brushes my lip
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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4/24/2024 10:31:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
