poem: sleep-cycle still screwed up

Sleep treads softly,
like Summer in bare feet,
and winds about your ankles like a cat:
furry, clawed, and neat.
Untamed it comes and goes
heedless of insomniacs' desires;
beholden to none, and damping
even strongest raging fires.
I wrote this mostly for myself--my sleep cycle's been screwed up ever since the time change.