Not for some time now

Have I crucified and tied

And stapled or flayed

Have I taken you by surprise

Have I seen the slight

And I know it is not

Simply the passing of time

But grace with a washcloth

And a page turn

Yes, and the turner grows me

That I could still find bliss

As a dreamer of demise

Yet thrill more and more

In simply drifting off to sleep

With books and white noise

Is itself the pitter-patter