“Sleep,” Ensign, Jan. 1971, 69


Sleep comes as night must come.

The almond gleam of light in the willows

Slips east to meet the subtle billows

Of darkness and the hum

Of smalling wings, as if God’s tallows,

Burning low, flicker out in the hallows

Of holy Christendom.

It smooths a cape of heavy green

Across the silken sheen

Of a day that slowly disappears,

Dimming under the spears

Of glory from a drowsy sun

That gilds the west, then naps, undone.