Sonnet I

When at last the vibrant day is done,
By mother from the nursery we’re led,
We put away our playthings, one by one,
Only half averse to go to bed
Yet longingly we stare right past the door
And though we’re promised far more splendid toys,
We cannot seem to leave those on the floor
Of the room that had held all our private joys.
While mother calmly led us by the hand
We hadn’t stopped to think to stay or go,
But the bleary-eyed will never understand
The power of the unknown over known
So lulled by bedtime stories to not protest,
We feel there’s nothing better but to rest.