In my current situation, the first four lines of Edna St. Vincent Millay's Nuit Blanche have come to mind. I think the imagery is great, a very nice vignette.
I love that last line because it took a little while to dawn on me (no pun intended)! I used to think the pane going white meant that she had counted SO MANY sheep that they got all piled up so that all she could see out the window was white wool. It was only later that I realized it was night turning to day - dark to light.
I am the shepherd of those sheep
That climb a wall by night,
One after one, until I sleep,
Or the black pane goes white.
Words, especially in the form of poetry are a balm to me. Being able to put a struggle - any struggle - into poetic words somehow helps - doesn't fix the struggle but makes it more bearable somehow.