Self-pity crept in by the bedside
Laid a languorous hand on my back
And pressed me into smothering covers
I fought back not a bit and sunk
Into the soft, motionless depths
Of a savoured sorrow
That tasted dry and overwrought
Bringing me back to restless immobility
What tossing and turning did this ship—
Myself—endure upon the sea of sleeplessness
I fought with rage and pride against a foe
That dared to offer out a hand to save me
“Grab hold and live!”
He cried from the deck
And still I screamed futile rage and sorrow
Gurgling against the waves
“Give me this!”
I shouted
“Give me one wrong to remember;
One grudge to nurture.”
But he stole the dead weight from my hands
And carried me to shore
Back to my bedside
Where self-pity lay defeated
Then instead of weeping
I gave in to sleeping.
