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In the still, silent hours before morn,
My mind is not tired, it cannot rest.
The rest of me is distraught, torn;
Why does the Sandman mock and jest?

No sprinkles of magical dust,
To banish thoughts so bountiful
Such that the mind ne'er goes to rust,
Forever sharp and never dull.

Still sleep must come, for a new day
Fastly approaches. Until then,


*****

Addendum : This post from several years ago (possibly as early as 2005), I can't remember where the poem is from. In any case, it should see the light of day!

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