Sonnet 41 - Treats Poem by Dennis Lange

We sometimes lie abed but cannot sleep;
The Shepherd serving us so oft and well
Has fled the field, defeated, with his sheep,
While we remain in that deserted cell.

When peace is gone, since worry took its place,
We cling to troubled thoughts of what seems dear,
Those transitory things that we embrace,
Which also wrap us up and draw us near.

The treasures that we polish, guard to keep
Are keepers of our souls; they guard the gate
To happiness, so owners cannot reap,
For they are busy watching early, late.

This thief steals sleep and peace by his deceit.
In turn, he will not steal supposed treat.