“Do you think-” said the sheep

“that when you go to sleep

that the rest of the world doesn't do?

Does it all disappear or go murky and deep

and then pop back up waking with you?”

 

“I really don't know”

said the kettle-black crow

“for my dreams are in different lands

where my beak is all soot and I fly through the sea

with my feathers all made out of hands.”

 

“All the same-” said the sheep, who had fallen asleep

and was currently made out of paper:

“I'd quite like to know if it goes to and fro,

or it stops and begins again later.”