Sun has set
on another long day.
Children are tired
after all their play.
Windows are closed
to keep out the chill.
I open a bottle
for my magic pill.
The one that
helps put me to sleep,
so I just don’t
lie there and weep.
For two years now
this is my routine,
I can’t go to bed
under my own steam.
Another magic pill
is taken in the morning,
to guard against feelings
that call without warning.
The 50 year old poet 
I have my magic pill that I take every morning. I wish it were strong enough, then I wouldn’t need another one 4 hours later.
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