Plahm writes a poem that functions as a lullaby and a guided meditation simultaneously. The opening couplets establish the need: a long week, a tough day, the sun gone and the moon smiling. From there, the poem enacts the process of letting go—eyelids fluttering, limbs relaxing, the mind drifting toward clouds. The imperatives are gentle rather than commanding: “Reflect on the positive / Let meditation begin,” “Become a child again / Innocence reborn,” “Cuddle that teddy bear.” The direct address to “A Beautiful Lady” personalizes what might otherwise be generic wellness advice, and the declaration “I am with you in that pursuit of peace / That garden we share” transforms solitary meditation into shared intimacy. The breathing section—three repetitions of “Breathe in / Breathe out”—is the poem’s formal centerpiece, creating actual rhythmic deceleration on the page. The reader’s breathing naturally slows to match. The closing pivot from rest to anticipation (“The morning / Will be electric”) and the final image of the garden needing the beloved’s return reframes sleep not as escape but as preparation—rest is what makes the garden possible. The poem practices the gentleness it prescribes.

A tender, functional poem that succeeds as both literary work and actual relaxation exercise. The progressive structure—from acknowledging exhaustion through releasing tension to synchronized breathing—mirrors genuine meditation practice, and the repeated “Breathe in / Breathe out” creates a physiological effect that most poems only aspire to. The shift from universal meditation guidance to personal address (“A Beautiful Lady”) is handled with characteristic Plahm warmth, and the shared garden metaphor gives the poem a unifying image that elevates it beyond simple instruction. The closing sequence—fingertip spark, electric morning, the garden’s need—introduces just enough anticipatory energy to prevent the poem from lulling into passivity; rest is purposeful, not escapist. Where the piece is less successful is in its middle stanzas, which occasionally read as meditation script rather than poetry—”Reflect on the positive” and “Let meditation begin” are directives that lack the imagistic surprise of Plahm’s stronger lines. The teddy bear image, while endearing, risks sentimentality. But the breathing section is genuinely effective, and the final line (“That Garden / Will need you”) gives rest a reason and the beloved a morning to wake toward. A poem best read aloud, slowly, at the end of a long day.