Stack them all upon my head
as I down drowsy on this bed
do beg for eyes of light and day
instead of deep top deathlids sway
and sink in shades of pages grey;
all worlds within the waters weigh
a-tempting drifting, Jesus pray
my life come more than Jack no play;
please prop me up and help me stay
even, upright, night I may
enjoy the swash and ocean spray
yet keep the tide of books at bay.
If all is gift, no gain when dead,
a page into my dreams I’ll thread.
On reading at night
Joe Spring writes 