It’s sleep-stealingly unquiet in here.
Their laughter ricocheting still…
Bounding down the hall,
‘Longside their banshee-bickering.
I feel Lilliput-small again;
The night-light dour-flickering:
It shanks a Swift-shifting shadow
Into the electric bill…
Which I pretend is interesting
For near a hollow hour.
Daddies have Brobdingnagian dreams;
Though so gleams their slightest tear.