"It’s dangerous to lie down
mid-day, late March and dark,
a heavy, wet snow falling from the sky
or rising from the ground, it’s hard
to say, the day a blur
as you drift off towards sleep
rather than keeping your eye on
the great world around you…
Ah, but poetry’s hard, and sleep
comes so easy, and what does the day
care if I just ignore it, and go
my easy way to oblivion, which is,
now that I think on it, such a
beautiful word."