What if, come the cockerel’s call, My sullen eyes stayed shut? Screen alight, yet eyes closed tight, Amidst my dreamer’s glut. Well first she’d rage; a hole is made That must be promptly filled, I feign arise, my sullen eyes, Stay firmly shuttered, still.
What if, come the sun’s sure climb, My waking soul stays stone? Through mother’s call, it shan’t enthral, Amidst my dreams I roam. The plans I’ve made, fall through today, Perhaps they’ll be recast? I hasten bet, they’re never met, My sleep remains steadfast.
What if, come nocturne’s end My sheets remained unkempt? The day ahead, yet me, in bed Contained in its contempt. A meal untouched, my place at lunch, Is filled with nought but air. All this I’ll miss, but only wish In dreams, I’ll better fair.
What if, come the fall of dew, My soul, it does not wake? The plague is gone, to join Aamon, With a lapse of heart to break. Though lover cries, and brother shies To think of what is truth, Their son, their friend, has met his end To rest upon them ruth.
What if, come the morning’s light, My body lays there still? Father checks, with bated breaths, If my lungs will even fill. Their day ahead, in tattered wreck Their week is troubled more; “Darling son. Our number one, Awaken, I implore!”