I know, the title sucks. Critique?


Rest For All


The hot and humid air hangs like a curtain through the summer,
Keeping me awake against my will.
Atop the covers lying I am sighing just for slumber:
Mercy from midsummer's air so still.

My window's propped wide open and behind it's glassy eye
A tapestry of stars shines fondly through.
While a sweet and lulling cricket's fiddle sings a lullaby
My wish to fall asleep still won't come true.

Perhaps, I wonder silently, this isn't so detested,
Why Id rather wait the night away and listen to it's tune,
Than wake to-morrow with my troubled mind not one bit rested,
And carry on but never see the moon.