A poem returning to sleep,
A topic for all days...
That end in tumbles down to duvets,
And quiet contemplation in the night,
Eyes closed... or open in the dark,
All's same in this returning land,
Yet tired whispers ring like wind-chimes,
A gentle call to turn in quick,
That crashes into raucous harmony,
And then to silence urging you the same.
...

Jack's beans,
Broke by the jostling brush,
Just bursting out of beanless bog,
Breaking beyond the joyous bubbles,
That bask in jolly brightness,
Beyond, bumbling branches do bolt to jumbo Jack-eaters,
And belligerent bellows jostle the bean branches.

Works I suppose.