Sleep

A donkey wades through a river
Under generous palm leaf shade
For a moment shuts his eye
And opens it to see

Doubles, triples, turns of phrase
That wind back round to old malaise
A needle's eye, a gentle gaze
That settles softly down
Butter melting all around
From circus clowns to old, old friends
Speaking in tongues and rumbling thunder
Pattering on the windowsill
Adorned by linen and feathers by the ton
A dozen white lights stream out from the mobile
To play upon a fading sun
And rippling all around his hoofs
Ebbs and flows recede
Rocking to the shore beneath
The sleepy willow trees
The lights all go out in Copenhagen
They won't come back until
A drifting child bids goodbye
To the bluebells of Box Hill