To loathe the waking moment,
The bitter lash of second-hand's sweep
And long for slumber's sweet respite.
Yet driven on through sleepless night
...
Trees howl in winter's wind:
Even they want
in my door!
...
Catch the lion by the tail
With hopes to soothe and heal
The wound so deep within his paw,
And hurt is what you'll feel
...