​Ruffled sheets,
Tainted with weariness,
On the bed beside her.
Sitting on the corner of the sodden chair,
in her purple glittering gown,
Circling her finger around the rim
Of the glass of wine,
Now mostly empty,
Her hair beautiful
But a mess now.
Let’s call it a day
She says.
After all it took so much out of her
Her body ached with tiredness
Her mind was feeble.
She got up and tried to drift,
“Sweet slumber come to me”
But apparently sleep doesn’t come to the tired
It comes to the unruffled.