Sleepyhead

Two windows closing little by little Brittle materials be blamed for weakness Buzz might break them off, possibly wiggle Prolonging the boredom of her highness. Can’t wait for blackout; freedom can be found Ironic how simple bliss may come in Murmur of the wind is an intense sound This topsy-turvy world causes no grin. Perhaps her highness craves a sweet winter Double expectations must not be failed Melted creation will disappoint her Still, being anywhere but here is hailed. That’s it for today; tomorrow again Just hold on; she’ll close the windows by then.