Sleep-Walker

In a ray of light,
I feed the polite look,
A famous farmer of twigs,
Like a dove or a sparrow,
Whichever fits the flight of the farmer.

Inert gases are in my bed,
In the night is a collection,
On the post is a sign,
In the mind has been madness
Of a mare or an ordinary horse.

The sleep is like a blind man,
And I can see more than anyone,
More like a walker of sleep,
More like the sleep-walker from above.