Her Dance


Young moon shining cool and bright,

Hypnos singing lullaby with his harp,

Form of my partner’s loud snores,

Chill breeze from my air conditioner,

And my soft feather bed,

Thus, are my comfort to slumber.

 

As I rest and dream,

Like a princess with glass shoes,

And beautiful gowns,

There she stands like a beast,

As a hassle uninvited,

But prompt.

 

Nay! not a smothering snake or a ghoul,

It’s mine own,

Without which a women’s beauty is lost,

Like wine, ages with time,

Long or short, brown or black, rough or smooth,

Always a thing of pride, for a woman.

 

My mane, when all sleeps blissfully with me,

One bunch stands,

And dances its heart out to my fan’s tunes,

Though her stage is always fixed,

She lands on my temple or nose,

Tickles me to watch her dance.


My relentless attempts to stop her,

Always a failure and poof! vanishes my sleep,

And along with it my glass shoes and gowns,

Alas! Wish I could stop her!

Comments

Unknown said…
The comfy night its dreams, the mane and the sleep struggle are beautifully described.
6:28 PM
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