In my sleep

Sleep’s been chasing me all week.
I’d like nothing better (than)
To giving in;
Let it work its magic,
Let it take over my senses
As the eyelids grow heavy.

This one is a gentle lover
Never rushing me
Through phases
Taking its time,
Pouring in – little by little,
Letting it all settle.

In my sleep I’m going places
Back and forth and beyond.
Am gazing at the horizons,
Remaining ever far.
Never did venture out
- The thought’d sometimes occur.

In my sleep she comes to me;
Her voice rings so true!
In my sleep I see all colors
Even the pinkish hue.
In my sleep I see all colors
Except the shades of blue.


Sleeping Gypsy (Rousseau, 1897)