Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Bedtime Hush to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
One cloud, a woolly sheep, went wandering off to graze,
Two more, a sailing boat, went drifting through the haze.
Three clouds made a hill and lay down soft and slow,
Four clouds hushed the valley and stopped the winds that blow.
Five became dragons that yawned and curled up tight,
Six were sleepy giants who wandered off from sight.
Seven clouds slowed down and settled for the night,
Eight hung low enough to let the moon peek in with light.
Nine folded up their silver seams and hummed a silent tune,
Ten tucked me into dreaming beneath the drowsy moon.
I lost the count somewhere near the end, and that was quite all right,
For a sleepy sky is the softest friend to count with at night.
Poet of Bedtime Hush · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
Counting sheep is an old cure for sleeplessness. Here the sheep turn into clouds, and the count from one to ten becomes a small journey through the sky.
Each number brings a new cloud. “One cloud, a woolly sheep, went wandering off to graze,” and the next is “a sailing boat.” Three become “a hill,” four “hushed the valley,” five turn into “dragons that yawned,” and six are “sleepy giants.”
The count slows as sleep arrives. Seven “settled for the night,” eight let “the moon peek in with light,” and ten “tucked me into dreaming.” The speaker “lost the count somewhere near the end,” and the poem says that was “quite all right.”