When the night is there, but you will not sleep,
And there is no point of counting sheep,
The brain spins tales, with no woolen ends,
And the thoughts are strange with twists and bends.
The heart delights in a journey told,
Of memories and stories of old,
Of the clarity of a challenged mind,
The Duality intertwined.
Fight not, the nights of little rest,
Use them for the Eternal’s best
Interest and your own as well,
Because each of us has tales to tell.
Pick up the project, journal, or art,
Let the progress come from your heart,
You are chosen to do take this flight,
No better time than the dark of night.
micheleplumbstowell.org 