Sleep

Sleep is but the drooping,
Of tired and weary eyes.
It is to consciousness,
The saying of good-byes.

It is a chasm crossed,
From here to there.
A Valley...sweet with peace,
Where motives do not dare.

To beat upon the gates,
Nor to act in rage and fear.
Lest tempests should come forth,
And armored guards appear.

For dreams are but caravans,
Advancing to the light.
Camels plumed in purple,
That comes from out the night.

Giving sleep...its high degrees,
Where white wings soar.
Leading to a place supreme,
As death unlocks the door.


E.P. 1908 - 1989