On Sleep
That thief who creeps on soft and silent feet, Who steals the hours we'd rather spend awake, Yet gifts us dreams we never thought to seek— A bargain struck for consciousness's sake. The Vice Chairman knows well this nightly trade: One signs away the day's remaining light For restoration's promise, dimly made, A contract written fresh with every night. But sleep, like markets, rarely plays it fair— She comes unbidden when we need her least, Then flees when most we crave her tender care, And leaves us prey to every wakeful beast. So court her gently, Dr Gi, and know: She visits those who do not watch her go.
