Lying sleepless, twisting and turning into the early am's of the night;
Vulnerable and tired, a little something wells up my eye, maybe a memory long forgotten;
Even as the weight of its wetness, stretches slowly across my arid face;
A soft wind swings the tree outside, and shining through its leaves, a resplendent moon;
Dissipating my veil of despondence, sleep it comes on a tip toe, as I smile at that silver moon.
