Waking Wrests Sleepy Fancies

World of fancies


i am buried in folds of sleep,

i sigh; the bed is so warm and deep!

i could sleep till past the noon,

but that would be lazy, and soon,

i would waste away from soft repose,

yes, give me work, poetry or prose.

i make up this rhyme while half asleep,

yet find it long enough in words to steep,

like tea in its pot till fine.

so i would rather spend my time.

Dreams! how mysterious yet great,

they take me to lands i love or hate.

memories, snippets of time long past,

or even those i hope yet to last.

in one i ran through darkened woods,

in another i saw a friend smile at me,

but when closer i saw, no, it was not he.

sleep will take me to lands unknown,

places in waking i could never go.

i wonder why they come in mind,

but then cannot go to these lands i find.

but it is pleasant to lie in warm, sweet rest,

until day comes, and waking wrests

your sleepy fancies from you.

this i know will always come true.

that if i have dreams sweet or of pain,

i will always awake again,

so never fear to dream.


--Chandler Hamby