Sleep of the Blessèd
I don’t know why I’m gifted so,
To sleep as tightly as a tree –
To close my eyes and just let go,
And slip into eternity –
Where aeroplane nor car alarm
Nor deep pneumatic drill
Can rouse me from my safe-from-harm
Before I’ve slept my fill.
I’ve heard it said a guilty soul
Will lie as skittish as a foal,
And never find repose.
Now I, I never was a saint,
And yet I dream without constraint
When sweetly comatose.
I don’t know why I’m fortunate
To sleep as soundly as a stone,
Until my eyelids raise the gate
To marvel how the night has flown.
Oblivion is long my friend
Who waits in Timbuktoo.
I swear, the World and all could end,
And I would sleep on through.
I’ve heard it said that peaceful minds
Have little need for warmth and blinds,
When tiredness prevails.
Now I, I am not pure and deep,
And yet I still could harvest sleep
Upon a bed of nails.