The Sleepless Poet
The words are a-tumbling
around in my head
as I lay in the dark in
my snug little bed.
The sandman is missing
and sleep will not come.
Till committed to paper,
they will not succumb.
Renegade thoughts,
like a runaway train,
are bouncing around
off the walls in my brain.
So I turn on the light
and I reach for my quill,
in hopes that some rhyming
might bade them be still.
And this is what came
as I scribbled away,
a lyrical end to a
poet's long day
and a soft little sigh
from this tired grateful heart,
Thank you, Dear God,
for the Grace You impart.
Now please, if You will,
let me drift off to sleep...
I'm too tired to think or
count any more sheep!
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