Slumber

​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.