O Dreamer, Wake Unto Me.

The constance of Thought makes itself hastily-heard
Light hushed over fields; another dawn gently-blurred.
In bold disposition of Tempest the Nightingale cries,
and spurs shut the blues of Beau's golden-thread eyes.

This Author-Lover's soul: a Backward-Bard writing inverse,
She can not sleep for dreaming; tis' Her nightly curse.
With quill and parchment Her rapier and a phalanx-will to write-
She caresses and cuddles close while World turns day from night.

Clickedy-Clanks of Rude World heard in Downtrodden Day,
Lull'd by Cow-Over-Moon-Light have all passed away.
This Noiseless Night drink'eth the Dregs of evening decay-
Permit Authress voyage to Dreams- but keep Starlight at bay!

Her pillows sway with Rapid Rising of Dreamer's chest;
Rapid Eye Movements, Sweet-sleep, & Innocent Rest.
Feeling Chill of Alone, Authress contemplates re-write,
For His sweet-soft sleep-murmur brings muse and insight.

She observes his Blinking Eyes- holding unspent tears-
hearing Steady-Sleeping Heart mirroring Waking-World fears.
Dreamer's thoughts glad for Night and His mind put to Bed;
Ill-spoken Worry-Words left lovingly unsaid.

She holds Pen in tow and scratches words with brace of shelf:
She criticizes Him only of That which she fears most in Herself.
To give small things large Shadows is consistent to Her person,
She burns bridges often with promise that Love will never worsen.

Her prose begs the question: why pay interest before it's due?
Why dodge the Elephant but not the Fly in Her Womanly rue?
If after a Botticelli's Vision-Fairer He doth' optically embark,
Old Candle must flicker afresh- created by new flint and spark!

O Dreamer, wake unto me and sing me your Lamenting-Song,
Gone are the Worries and Cares of the Waking-World's throng:
This night I write from my heart that which I know to be True-
The time will come when Waking-World Worries will no longer torture You.