A poet sleeps
The world's at rest
A lifeless candle on a desk
No one to see the lazy dawn
No one to hear the sunrise moan
No coldness sneaking through a crack
No dirty stairs by gloomy track
No slush by brown, broken bench
Nor furry snowflakes on a branch
No touch, no sense, no breath    
All dies in drowsy silence
The poet sleeps.

"Everywhere I go I find that a poet
has been there before me"
Sigmund Freud