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Tossing, turning, give up on counting sheep,
get up and pace the hall in search of sleep,
The floor above me creaks, does someone walk,
in their sleep? Perhaps a friend of four o'clock.

Quiet now the croaking of courting frogs,
Not a sound from the neighbours' barking dogs,
Most welcome in the four a.m.stillness,
Yet increasing insomnias chillness.

In times of silence come the strangest things,
Random scenes, like a dinosaur with wings,
A great huge bee in black and yellow vest,
Whizzing and buzzing, annoying at best.

Breathe in breathe out, who's knocking at the door,
It's that cat in a hat, now what's in store.
He's yowling like a tom-cat in the night,
His stove top hat askew, he's quite a sight.

As first light creeps across the window sill,
All strangeness fades, all fantasies are still,
To what Mark Twain once implied I cling,
Imagination is a blessed thing.

Just For The Love Of It PHRASE Challenge

Required phrase in times of silence

'It is a blessed thing to have an imagination
that can always make you satisfied'
Partial Quote from a Novel The American Claimant by Mark Twain

By Sallee

© 2018 Sallee (All rights reserved)


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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Just For The Love Of It PHRASE Challenge-read page for rules, info, and REQUIRED PHRASE (challenge has been closed)

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