Sunday, 14 December 2025

The Little Champ

 I envy the way he falls asleep

A half a minute and he's gone 

As if sleep had waited too long 

To accompany him till dawn 


I envy that he sleeps at exact times

Perhaps a little early but never late 

And every day of the week, he does 

Sometimes supper can even wait 


I envy that he does not brood at all

About the day's trivialities at sunset 

All he cares about is his sweet slumber 

Unlike I, by midnight, rest isn't earned yet


I toss and turn for hours every night,

I pour libation, offer blood sacrifice 

To the unyielding sadistic sleep

Only glimpsed at a minute to sunrise

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