Why does the Dormouse sleep so?
Tucked away in hidey hole
Does he dream of sleep or wake,
Of the things he cannot partake,
Soar as eagle, hoot as owl,
Roar like beast, fill full as fowl;
Or see himself in sleepy slumber
Warm and cosy, under covers.
Does he hibernate with stock in store
Or nauseously at sight and thought
Of fruit and nut, flower and berry:
Past summer months a sickly plenty.
Landing in a heavy fall
Is he sure of way to go?
Nobody nowhere to which to turn,
As eyes get drowsy, darkness calls
Echoing a twisted worm hole
Changing time in tunnelled home
Enticing in to rest and sleep
Promising – soul to keep
Safe and sound, off into dream
Of this and that and anything.
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