Incessant retrieving, memories weaving
through the boggy moors of the mind.
Insomnia’s contempt with its sleep contretemps
unravels one’s thoughts to unwind.
These modern-day nights there’s a pill, quite effective,
a most tiny aid to one’s slumber.
It will settle a brain, most addictive,
with an artificial resolve to a trouble.
Let us return to times most medieval
with the “fyrste slepe” at night’s eventide.
An awakening phase came thence in the middle,
for the peasant’s night hours did divide.
Let us emulate those simpler times
when middle earth’s days' work was through.
Not just one nap on a peasant’s straw mattress,
he split his feudal nights into two.