*Illustration reference: "Sleeping Woman" by Anton Ebert
Sleep, sleep, your conscience begs
One cannot scribe when down to dregs
Like vessel that needs to be filled
Spent soil once a season tilled
Eventually can serve no more
Till well-replenished are their stores
So snuff the candle burnt to wick
Close manuscript that’s grown too thick
Place quill in well, cap bottled ink
Dull raptness that makes one hard think
Oblivion is state you seek
Slow climb stairs that in comfort creak
Your stamina, like thread unspooled
Seeks respite between layers cooled
Let downy pillow cradle head
That knows words worthy will be said
As rested mind sets its intent
Assured its riches are well spent!
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