An ode to resting travels.
Sleep,oh first cousin of death
once more we rehearse this
nightly ritual,like some aged
actor on stage,do I know my
lines? I feel you coming dear
cousin,where are we going
tonight? Will you get me back
in time to catch the suns first
light, the world without is
fading,the one within grows
bright,I feel myself drifting
towards some strange new sight.
Warmest regards Michael.
kirkpatrickmichael17@gmail.com
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