Goodnight, Book

With eyes barely open,
Perchance to dream,
Her head lowers slowly
In moonlight’s beam.

The book not yet tabled,
Reader’s voice soft and low,
The words unheard,
Letters not in a row.

A scene shifts and dances,
on eyelids so heavy,
Dreams meet the conscious,
Fiction tide pools eddy.

Sleep settles in,
Content to take charge,
Breaths deep and long,
Giving needed recharge.

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