The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened dune
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon
Upon my pillow safe in bed
A thousand pictures fill my head
I cannot sleep my minds aflight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead.
If there are noises in the night
A frightening shadow, fleeting light
Then I surrender unto sleep.
Where clouds of dreams give second sight
What dreams may come both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep
Today's weather in Atlanta sang of the high desert: remarkably clear, hot, and exceptionally dry. Such perfection is normally reserved for a few days in Fall here, so I made a special effort to be outside. The joy of it all wore me out and I am left to sink into a welcomed sleep, cradled by the music of Eric Whitacre and lyrics from the pen of Charles Silvestri.
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