Hear in my bed, my brain all but dead.
I slowly write down what I have in my head.
Eyes drooping closed; head starting to nod.
Forgive me if this poem is seaming quite odd.
I lay, and I think of my place in the world.
But I'm content at the moment- with my book I am curled.
I'm humming a song... the lyrics I don't remember.
I think they have something to do with the end of September.
I begin to wonder about father time...
For all the minuets I've wrote here feel so sublime.
It's already tomorrow, and the hour is late.
My heart keeps beat at a very slow rate.
The long day behind me makes me wonder whats ahead.
One way to find out is to just go to bed.
For when I awake I will leave my pillow behind.
A new adventure for the day I'll go out and find.
But now I am here- and hear I will stay.
For now it is night- not the brightness of day.
The shadow of my hand gets in the way as I write.
Its cast from behind; by my little flashlight.
I pull up my covers for the night is cold.
I'm also so tired- my pencils getting harder to hold.
My eyes are closed now- I'm writing blind here.
I'm starting to think the end of my poem is near.
Goodnight to all people on my side of the world.
And into my pillow my head is now hurled.
Thank you all who took the time to read all of this.
And if you were here.. with me.. I'd give you a...
Zzz... ... ...zzz ...Zzz.... ... ...zzz...
B4 Bed
