in 41, we slept years, guessing what
we could not know, romantic war, wondering
weather we should look to see
tomorrow's rain, for
ever more we'd wake
and might, not recalling
dreams
ignorance
will
not watch, for even a night,
the evils borne to us in the day, and coming
morning surely brings relief on lifted stones,
our pillows reticence, reticence to dream alive,
sleeping peace.