Sleeping With Poets
Ah my friends please lend an ear,
I have a secret I must share.
When the sun goes down at night
and the moon is in full sight,
I dim the lights, turn off the phone,
slip into bed, but not alone.
For when I crawl between the sheets
it is with Byron, Shelley, and Keats.
Shelley makes me a wanton soul,
ever playing the lover's role.
When I'm wrapped in Byron's prose
the fervor penned curls my toes.
I'm up 'til the stars are at sleep.
Keats words of beauty make me weep.
I have this need I can't deny
that makes me keep a poet nigh.
When I close the book at last
there are no shadows to be cast.
For I have wiled away the hours
enthralled with the poet's powers.
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