Exhaustion takes her like
a tidal wave of crashing
responsibility.

Too tired to move, too
numb to care about the
mould on the windowsill,
growing a culture as she
cultures hers.

Sleeplessness takes its
toll on dry eyelids that
have not seen the sun in
too long... 8 months.


She smiles.


She looks upon the
sleeping frame, dreaming
the dreams she cannot.


She laughs.


Tiny fingers twitch in
slumber as rosebud mouth
seeks Heaven's breast.


She glows.


Trusting eyes flit open,
slowly losing their
midnight glaze and a 
SMILE so wide and true
replaces any fatigue.


She now has the strength to go on.


copyright Dianna Hardy, 2010
www.thewitchingpen.co.uk
Freestyle and rhyming poetry from a fresh, young voice.