Its time, for sleep, forYou, a prayer too...

'Its time...'
Like that chair umpire
Of Wimbledon sky
Blue white morn like
Time calls
For a sleep,
A rest to Your state,
For you,
me prays too,
For all,
For this nightfall
Is only for the morn,
And a night is lighted
For the morn sighted
In mirror,
A mirror as Yeats turned a lamp,
A mirror by mimetic art,
Long long ago,
Even before
you were here,
Or me was,
Even before times arrived,
Even before that,

Before heavens and you were there

For You and Heaven
Are entwined,

'Its time...'
The time chimes,
And me sees you going to sleep,
For sleep keeps all the goodness true,
For sleep keeps collected happiness as proper residue,
Only to be lighted more,
By morn, another,


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