Michael Woodhead


Written & Composed by Michael Woodhead
Copyright © 1969, 2019

I lay awake upon my bed
My pillow lay beneath my head
My sheets, as yet, were not drawn up
And, in my hand, I held a cup of tea

And, in my hand, there did appear
A misty mist, and yet, so sheer
And, deep inside, I saw things there
Which seemed to be, as yet, unfair to me

And I was drawn into the dimension of Death
Where I floated in space
With Night did I embrace
While I tried to retrace my steps

I shook my head, and thereupon
I op't my eyes, and gave a yawn
My room, again, I recognized
And yet, it was no real surprise to me