The day is for work and so night is the best,
A much treasured sleep, my so beloved rest,
The comfortable folding of hands upon chest,
And here I go creeping t'wards nothingness.

Oh look, it is time for an afternoon nap,
But it should have been twenty, now hours have passed,
The comfortable laying of hands on the lap,
And here I go creeping t'wards wanting and lack.

Hardly open for buis' I prefer the closing of lids
Why work to get rich, my dreams are for this,
The comfortable laying of head upon wrist,
And here I go creeping t'wards if only, I wish!
J.S.