Once again he has to stand guard and watch, His heart sinks as the crimson torch Of a glorious sunset, Heralds the falling night, and the dreaded hours in bed.

Silently he waits for the soft caress And the tender touch of sleep and rest. Yet their gentle fingers elude his hand And he never crosses the borderland, To that velvety twilight zone, Land of magic, world of its own.

Without sleep or dreams is the night, Doomed is he to this eternal plight. Rising to face a new day once more, Tired and unrefreshed as the thousand days before. (…)

Helen F. K. Chiu, Department of Psychiatry, The Chinese University of Hong Kong. This is an extract; the full poem is available from the author.