The School Of Sleep Poem by Ann Beard

On waking from the deepest sleep
I wondered, were life in reverse.
If nights of sleep be school of life
each day a play we must rehearse.

I’d have to study my behaviour
selfish acts and maybe worse.
a mind so full of petty thoughts
and maybe once or twice a curse.

Maybe I should practise caution
indiscretion deemed perverse.
Erotic sighs won, t pass this student,
shock waves rock the universe.

At dusk pretence just slips away
the naked form is free of sham.
I join the line of student souls
to sit the practise death exam.

Roan.