The Dreamers tale

Now to bed we all must retire
But before this, let’s do a satire
For my bed which I so admire
I’m wrapped in my pyjamas, a funny attire

After the days hectic work
On the bed, a pen and book
I struggle quickly to find and pick;
A poem, it must even when I’m weak

I write about the day and noon
About the pipers and their nice tunes
I write about the grey fine moon
I sit to look at it but my eyes sink soon

The airs come, a merry night
But for the noisy hidden Crickets!
Mocking me from their dark forts
Disturbing my quietness and thoughts!

My candlelights dance excitedly
My green ball pen waltz joyfully
On paper they paint a picture to see
“To be or not to be”

Now the day is clearly over
And all has gone to their slumber
I’m so weak, I’m not a heavy sleeper
For after the struggles I do wonder

I shall retire to my bed lonely
Do not wake me up for some poetry
For in my dream, I see ecstacy
In the morning I shall tell you about me

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