This is a poem I wrote a couple of years ago, I always like the idea that our minds are as good at colouring in the world with imagination when we are awake as when we are asleep.  Bref, here it is:

It’s know by all in sleep we dream, yet this is little known:
That when our ‘lids spring up for day, our minds cease not their nightly play,
But spin, and dream, and roam.
They cast their nets despite the Sun, the eye of heaven bright,
How are we then, my fellow men, to see to the dark from light?


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