3am. I couldn’t sleep – I don’t think in my entire life I’ve ever fallen asleep intentionally at the moment I chose to – so I let my mind wander through rhymes and verses, some very silly, some very sweet. In the grand tradition of writing poems or songs about other poems or songs, here is a short poem about those fleeing stanzas.
Drifting
If I wrote down all the poetry,
That I wrought before I stumbled,
Into restless sleep and reverie,
Each stanza soft and mumbled.
In gilded parchment’s secret folds,
I’d keep those poems bound,
By a pen of burnished beaten gold,
To capture every whispered sound.
Dani O'Shea 