Come close and sleep now

And you talk on tiptoe,

Happy to be part

Of the darkness,

Lips becoming limp,

A prelude to tiredness.

Come close and sleep now

For in the morning,

When a policeman

Disguised as the sun creeps into the room

And your mother

Disguised as birds

Calls from the trees

You will put on a dress of guilt

And shoes with broken high ideals,

And refusing coffee

Run

All the way

Home.

By Anon

The Daily Echo's poet-in-residence, Polly Clark, writes: "This poem was sent by someone calling themselves Sappho, who says the poem was written by her daughter a long time ago when she was about nineteen.

"This is a beautiful poem, and even though its meaning is not entirely clear on a first reading, the images are startling and quite wonderful.

"I especially liked a policeman disguised as the sun."

You can e-mail Polly at polly.clark@soton-echo.co.uk