Mares from the Day

Did I really sit up, afraid to sleep,
As tears slunk from eyes in a lonely weep,
Because I saw sinister things in the dank
Dark depths, which, when searched for, reclined and shrank?
Was I bunched and curled into a tightened ball,
Believing that if I looked and sounded small
The terrible creatures of whom I was afraid
Might suddenly be by that unmade?
And was I really so convinced of ghosts,
Believing my room as their final host,
That I yelled, and screamed, did I screech
That they should leave, abscond out of reach
Of my poor mind and contorted soul,
Which writhed in pain as the bell did toll?
And did I then fall so deep asleep,
To forget the things that had made me weep,
So when I awoke with a wakeful head,
Had forgot the mares of the carnivorous dead?