A short poem which started off with a resolution to write whenever I have attacks of insomnia. If they are dull enough, it may solve the sleeping difficulties.
Hush. It is not yet five.
Silent, except for the probing wind against the trembling pane,
Once, all the world would have sheltered so, unalive.
And in some kinder epoch so it shall, once again.
Silent, except for the probing wind against the trembling pane,
Once, all the world would have sheltered so, unalive.
And in some kinder epoch so it shall, once again.