Restless child, with pursed lips and furrowed brow,
Reluctant to partake in this nightly ritual called bedtime.
Yet, both bathed and dressed, you are carried into your bunk.
One last chance, a ditch effort—you begin to whimper
You cling to your father’s pajama sleeve as he sighs lightly
And he leans in to tuck you snugly beneath the covers
Whispering softly as he brushes wet kisses across your forehead
Your eyes watching as he departs, anxious toes wiggling
Peeping out curiously from under heavy blankets,
In wait for the moment to tumble down onto the floor
After all, staring at eyelids could never be as exhilarating
As when you finally stumble upon all fours, defiant and proud
However, now unsure of what to do, eyes agape in darkness
ttered near the window over yonder
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