sleep had abandoned me quite early last night, it had hardly been the midnight hour… books piled upon books by my bedside, I had excused myself from your charming company, invoking those unread pages, when it is indeed the empty pages that begrudgingly hold my devotion… and just like that, without as much as a puny inspiration, the morning was upon me… outside, sun’s light slides down the slope of his morning gaze, and ever so tenderly washes the tender blades of green green grass… I catch myself unawares, contemplating the cosmic device… shy, as light pours into my eyes, I wonder when I could turn the page… this moment refuses to pass… with a new page I could start afresh, forgetting the follies of the youth of poetry that had dawned upon me this moment…the critical moment, when all you can see is a stupid expression on your half empty page… I write,
She wears a smile upon her face
She’s been wearing it for years
Now it is at best worn out, weary
prodigal sleep returns, not without shame, the day has begun…
Story Of The Footloose 
Beautiful. 🙂
🙂