While I Was Sleeping

While I was sleeping
some children went unfed,
and bankers kept on reaping
their useless, leavened bread.

Poets were keeping
their records of the dead.
Autumn was sweeping
spent leaves of gold and red.

And dreams were steeping
like tea leaves in my head
while I was sleeping,
and resting on my bed.

I was not weeping
nor filled with cares or dread
of darkness creeping
or evil rumors spread.

While I was sleeping
sweet slumber wove a thread
of visions leaping –
as joy and peace were wed.