Whether sleeping fine or lathered
Deep beneath the quilts are gathered
Stuff of skin and hair and other
So much of it nightmares smother
Dreaming of the beasts that smite us
All just there in sleep's detritus
Counterpane is a land of dread
Where sleep walkers never leave the bed
Very small but mighty motes
Living, breathing in our throats
So do not toss and stir with grievings
Sleep in peace with the body's leavings
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