Ode to Sleep
The poem describes sleep as a “slab of outlaw time punctuating every pillow”.
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,—
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
Sleep is supposed to be
By souls of sanity
The shutting of the eye.
For a more prosaic albeit interactive take on sleep, see Le Centre des sciences de Montréal and its bilingual site on sleep http://www.lesommeil.ca where you can find more about Sleep from A to ZZZ.
And so for day 1414