Someday the roughage of the daily diet is too much to bare.
Oh how the boredom meets us with each breakfast,
The mundainity greets us for lunch,
And the loneliness berates us at our own dinner table.

All that I suggest is to be selfish for eight hours a day – in sleep.
The rest is for the rest of us. To rest is not to be a rock,
Reliable, unchanged, impregnable,
But to wRESTle with the universe,
In name, feature or form.

For sleep is but a hope to rise once again
From the ashes and dust and soot and murk
Of our eventual demise.

Dance the Danse Macabre with nimble limbs,
Drink the strong wine when it flows,
Follow no man or woman who demands it so,
Agility and obligation are enemies of each other,
Make peace with both.

Take comfort in your sleep – it will serve you better than your army.