Waiting for Sleep

By John Herlihy

Nighttime holds shades of dark,

The silence holds echoes of hark.

The night whispers softly a hum,

That will drift like a fading drum.

The rhythms mimic my breath,

No hint yet of approaching death.

The bedsheets feel of satiny silk,

Her breath smells of fresh milk.

When I think I may cease to be,

I wonder who will remember me.

My head lay gently on the pillow,

My wife a lovely weeping willow.

There in bed her boney feet cold,

While I lay there just feeling old.

I knew if she ever will cease to be,

I would miss her, my almond tree.

He gazes boldly into her starred face,

The night offers with amazing grace.

Her mouth mumbles a tender curse,

She knows his silliness gets worse.

You are mythic creature of the hour,

Your breath gives me fairy power.

The blankets so soft on tender skin,

Their aging faces betray a young grin.