Power

Weak, unimporant, hidden, unseen was I . 

Suddenly, I held power in my hand. 

It was strange, and heavy, like a cold, iron sword. 

I handled it carefully, wondering how to use it, or drop it as it seemed to chill through me. 

I examined its blade. 

I considered its strength. 

I thought of the results of power, even a minute one . . . 

Sleep

Sleep calls me by name and whispers to me

Wooing and luring and beckoning on

Eyes suddenly heavy and burning with sleep

This babe in my womb is long fast asleep

My energy's gone now, all used up in haste

Too much baking, too many cakes. 

Too long have I stood here brush in my hand

Too long have I turned from this beckoning hand. 

Sleep calls to me now, and once yet again. 

Come hither my child

Come rest in my arms.