counting sheep on a sunday night
it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
my favorite moon having left me for another
lying down I give in to silence
barely breathing in the dead of night
counting blessings and honestly questioning
whether or not I can feel my age-old bones
two scores ago I’d be falling fast asleep
transistor radio my only companion
rhythmically influencing my dreams
mysteriously quiet come mid-morning
if I could escape I certainly would
exploring the night like an owl or dormouse
flying high above or crawling on all fours
secretly returning home in the nick of time
it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
the midnight hour peacefully drawing near
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Have you been dreaming more? Or sleeping less?
always getting a good night’s sleep equals definitely dreaming more!
Do you remember your dreams, this poem is soft like a dream.
yes I do remember many of my dreams ~ thank you Denise
An outstanding poem, and incisor like
sharp intellect
Thank you, Ghost Moon 🙂