Lying in Bed One Night in June

{{#ifeq: | | {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |

   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | || 
     Author: Whiteflame  
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   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame)  
   }}
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 {{#ifeq: Justin S. (Whiteflame) | |
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | | Authors: ' | 
     Authors: Whiteflame 
   }} | 
   {{#ifeq: Whiteflame | |
     Authors: Justin S. (Whiteflame) |
     Author: Justin S. (Whiteflame) 
   }}
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}} {{#if:| — see also [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}

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<poem> i.

I lie in my bed, writing this poem. A bird is chirping, Is it a bobwhite or something else? It is singing about the recent rain In the labyrinth of small green spades, And shining dots, Which sparkle under the trees And above the moon.

ii. (later that night)

I can’t sleep this night. I lie in bed, With my arm under my pillow. I lament in my loss of the annoying sound of crickets. Off in the distance, A police siren goes off. He too, Misses the sound of crickets. </poem>

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