This morning I can't seem to get out of bed

This morning I can't seem to get out of bed,
instead sit bolt upright through the daylight hours
Insects chirp, the room grows darker;
a moon pops up, shining in the window
My mind dazed, as though I'd lost my bearings,
Idle thoughts welling up to prick me like thorns —
I'm sick of paying court to the dusty world;
writing — my concerns race solely in that direction.
Yet I must try to curb this perversity —
I have duties in the service of the king.
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Author of original: 
Han Y├╝
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