Do muses visit at this late hour, to hush my restless mind? Or watch as lonely poets pray for divine melodies? Perhaps they wait beside the throne of Artemis as her brother lays at rest, or paint stars with the glitter of the silver moon. Nightfall has a few hours left and the songs of sirens have yet to fade. Sleep has failed to come to me and I lie awake, deaf to the crickets and even to the sirens, listening only to my beating heart. Too many sleepless nights have scared dear sleep away, just when sweet oblivion has become my deepest wish but dreams my greatest fear.