Sleep Tight

The two white tigers laid flat out, Fatigued yet still awake, Yet even tigers cannot flout The need to take a break... And so they breathe much deeper still, Give way to thoughts they think And gently glide and overspill Upon the very brink... Their eyelids lower even more, To flutter now and then, While striving yet to keep the score For 'Who? How? What? Where? When? ' Then both are done... it's sleepytime... For them, no turning back, They slink towards their dreams sublime And everything turns black... To think, white tigers are quite few, Endangered, truth to say, How many left? I've got no clue, Yet maybe less today... And while their beauty makes us stare, Perchance to hold them dear, If we should lose the will to care... White tigers disappear...