Sleepily

the Father visits his son in the dark of day The son is abed, pale in the light of night For the sun and moon are witness in this hour of twilight But the sun is not heat and does not shine as bright And the moon is not rigid rock The sun is a warm hope, fading ever so slightly The moon is softness, the dark is soothing The son is abed, covers sprawled over his listless form The son is restless, he doth not sleep The son is ebbing, his heart does weep and his Father lifts the covers up tight around his chest and kisses his brow; The son blinks wearily, smiles wanly, whimpers meekly Sleep my son, the Father whispers But I cannot sleep - Sleep eludes him I want to play - Rest prances about him close enough to want, just out of reach And how can I sleep father? - How can he rest atop this fated bed? When I wish to wake? - When his heart doth weep restlessly? the Father wavers, he caresses the son's brow, but not his heart For the heart is within, the caress without, Rest my son, he says, rest and forget The Father, gently, lovingly, pulls the covers up, tight around the son's neck But father, father why My heart will not sleep Five more minutes? Just five. Sleep son, the hour is late, the time is neigh And the Father, always lovingly, he pulls the covers tight over the son, and lowers him into the ground.