Thursday, February 27, 2014


Sleep must be wooed, its elusiveness coaxed hither.

Bones and joints complain, skin prickles, a bladder urges.

Roadblocks loom up in the mind--

bright lights of fear,

quicksand of self-recrimination,

sinkholes of regret.

The Mountain of If Only rises before the eyes.

When sleep eludes and will not be enticed,

it is time to pray Faith Baldwin's "unfailing prayer"--

"I've done what I could, Father.

So now it is in your hands."

There are the good times when life is a buttery soft chamois
run gently over us.

Other times it is as rough as a loofah
or as agonizing as a metal grater.

It is still life, a gift denied to many.

Reason enough to go to bed each night and let our mind 
run over the joys inherent in each day,
much as a small child does at day's end,
his fingers rubbing the satin binding of his blanket.

Time to surrender and permit sleep to embrace us.

"God's in His heaven--

All's right with the world."

[from Pippa Passes by Robert Browning]