A-drowse I muse, who is cuter asleep, baby fauna or Popeye.
Sure, tiny heaving feathered, furred, or terried chests attest
affection-stirred endearing as they engine-putter guileless nest;
yet knowing benevolent, bell-bottoms-exchanged, in a nightshirted
Miss Oyl’s Bluto savior’s dreamland bub bub bubs a contest rests.
Sarah is today’s host for dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Sarah says:
Well, tonight we’re quadrilling, and, yes – sleep is the word. You can use any variant you like – sleep, asleep, sleeping, sleepy… – just so long as your poem is 44 words long and contains that elusive sleep word.