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The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The yellow flame’s flicker is weak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.
The toil of the day takes its toll and it wracks
The candle and man till life’s bleak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The slope of sleep’s soothing sweet tunnel attracts,
Though Day clutches man with its beak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.
The cares of tomorrow add to the mind’s tax.
One wrestles, it seems, for a week.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
Oh! for a pinch to the flame to relax
The light-load; bring rest that we seek!
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.
The sandman has tried, but his sand supply lacks.
The sheep flock? – the worry wolves wreak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.
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photo by Camilla Hviid at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puzT8WQ/Nothern+Coziness
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.
The Bard on the Hill 