I remain busiest when I sleep though I enjoy the ease
Because I talk to the LORD to extract my sense of peace.
He seems so familiar with His sense of humour and poise
But He does not allow me to look the other way with choice.
He wants me to follow HIM into the domain wher He reigns
And when the sleep breaks for the day of yours He feigns
As if HE did not exist either for me or for HIM with a frown
But I keep looking for HIM until people call me a clown.
Secretly to punish my LORD when I play a game of deception
I seem to hear a groan there that there will be no redemption.
I chuckle as I have ferreted Him out of His mysterious space
To know that when I will be misty with sleep He will bless
His child, a fragment of His own, crafted with love and nourished
With everything to defame Him yet in His glory, a dream He cherished. 
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