Sleepless in prose

What questions at crazy times

Many a night is spent sleepless,
Even at times, one is quite listless,
As midnight gains hour on hour,
The brain seeks stuff to scan and scour,
What could I do at this strange hour?

Then inspired by what I just read,
For quite a while not woven a thread,
Of words and thoughts within the mind,
To test a skill of wit, prose, and kind,
What is it that we might find?

In a bed, I sleep without that warmth,
Of arms that wrap around like cloth,
Those hands that soothe a good back rub,
Or when we shower, I get a scrub,
What in the morn is in my hot teacup?

My daydreams are walked all by the sea,
With winds and sprays that bring me glee,
I know my dreams prepare a way,
A foretaste of true living into the day,
What they ask makes them happy and gay?