Sleep and turn and sleep again,
Spite of the morning birds.
I am weary of strife with men,
Weary of fruitless words.
Once I traveled in blossomed ways,
Ere I had learned to weep.
Sleep is better than loveless days.
Death is better than sleep.
Sleep and turn and sleep again,
Spite of the morning birds.
I am weary of strife with men,
Weary of fruitless words.
Once I traveled in blossomed ways,
Ere I had learned to weep.
Sleep is better than loveless days.
Death is better than sleep.
© Gamaliel Bradford