I am afraid I’d die of dehydration,
So to subdue this wild agitation
Before myself t’ embrace of bed to throw
Wearily I to the kitchen go
And pour myself a glass of cold fresh water,
And every gulp succeeding is well shorter
Whereas the last of drops on my tongue sip
And of a loaf of bread I take a tiny nip
And then with inner peace within at last
I do commit myself to night’s so tender grasp