Tess sleeps on the couch,
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Her body, as her life, gently curled,
With the love of a mother,
The spot that the child,
Now I kneel,
Ungentle, but with my heart,
And see how well she shields my life,
There in the necessary casualness of sleep.
Unless the life of which we are all a part demands it,
I am merely husk, and not required just now.
Yet vigil is duty, Love.
Sleep, and I will watch.