Ode to Morpheus

You know you are my preferred god
You know I would loooooooooove
To be able to write a superb Ode
In your honor

It would certainly go on for hundreds and hundreds of lines
And more
And it is as I set to dip my best Feathered plume in the inkwell
That superb nuages of the whitest sort form over my head...
But, oh, wait, they are not clouds
They are lovely sheep
And it is as I try to start counting
That I readily fall asleep.