This is a bedtime poem,
A goodnight tome,
Meant to relax you into sleep,
Keeping you company as you drift off and Lift off into dreams beautiful and varied,
Not harried by things troubling,
Bubbling beneath the surface.
Shark this thought it will not help you sleep deeper.
Shut your peepers and slide under the covers,
Perhaps next to lovers.
Discover distant lands,
Recover from the day.
Stray far away,
Hit the hay and pray if you must.
If you trust to being bigger than us,
Suss out the mysteries of your psyche.
Just do it like Nike.
Rest,
Distress,
Regress into childlike security with surety of a new day That's not far away.
Put bad thoughts at bay until tomorrow's day.
Make sure to drink some water,
Give the sheep you count fodder,
And fall into the deepest and darkest most comfortable comfort possible.
The one most cognosable,
Extremely compossible,
Unswascible,
Unassailable,
Unawakable,
Undisturbable,
Unperturbable,
A fable most stable,
Enabling restfulness,
Fighting weariness and bleariness and dreariness of the day.
So do as I say,
Hit the hay,
And finish the day strong as I finish this song.
