by Theodora Goss

Tiredness has its own beauty.
It is late, so late, and I have at last
done my duty, fulfilled
whatever needed fulfilling, completed
the tasks of the day. Now, at last, darkness
can come, and I can wrap myself in it,
as though in a warm blanket.

Now, at last, I can sleep
on comfortable pillows, between
cool sheets, well-worn, freshly-laundered,
knowing I am free to enter
that other country, its dark shore
separated from this one only
by the river of forgetting.

Illustration by Emma Florence Harrison

(The illustration is by Emma Florence Harrison.)

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