I tell my fingers and pen,
“It’s time to sleep now, time to rest,
there’s always tomorrow…”
but they go on dancing
across the page like moonlight,
innocently not listening.
And I wonder what they’re writing
so furiously, so entranced are they,
but I decide not to disturb them.
They work as if this moment
were the very reason they were made,
As if this is the song
they were meant to sing…
and who am I to stop them
from their praise?
So I sit back more comfortably
to watch them weave words
I smile and sigh contentedly,
“I’m sorry Sweet Sleep
but you’ll have to wait,
maybe I will see you tomorrow Dear…”