The 4am Plea
My brow sweaty, my voice a whisper,
tossing and turning like pages of a book.
My mind fleeting, thoughts racing,
not listening to my overwhelming plea -
'To sleep, let me sleep.'
I can now see daylight brewing,
darkness withdrawing,
the freshened colours of dawn.
And yet my plea is still the same -
'To sleep, let me sleep.'
Labour hard, rolls soon the night,
aching pain, restless limbs thrash.
Dancing to a most sickly beat,
refusing to let lethargy sleep.
I plea - 'sleep, let me sleep.'
05.02.2021
Copyright © Charlotte Watkins | Year Posted 2021
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