SLEEPLESS IN WILMOT For us mouldy oldies, nights are long, Restive, wide-eyed waits for the dawn As digital clocks flash hourly numbers I envy youth their peaceful slumbers. To fill the dark and silent hours, I count the species of wild flowers That bloom unbidden in my field, Give thanks for the potato yield. Or contemplate the falling snow Swirling in the yard lights glow. I hear the dog moan in her dreams And wonder at the kittens schemes. I mourn lost friends in lonely sorrow. I plan what I should wear tomorrow. I wonder how I got these wrinkles, Why grins surround the eyes in crinkles. When do I rest? While watching the news. With a lapfull of cats I grab a quick snooze And I can always sleep in church And snore and gape and drool and lurch. Sometimes while reading, eyelids droop. Ive been caught nodding at my soup. And no amount of clever tricks Jolt me awake for politics. It doesnt help a lot Ive found To lie in bed and toss around. The best cure Ive discovered yet Is switching on the Internet. Knowing therere others just like me, Out there, wide-eyed, and brewing tea. (Why, they may be doing something worse Than typing, tapping lines of verse!) They, too, count money and woolly sheep. Some even cook or dust or sweep. They listen to the stomach rumbles And deeper sleepers lowing mumbles. They swing upright, toss back the sheet And search for slippers with their feet. Knowing when theyre feeling cold, Thats just the cost of getting old. So Im no different from other folks Who pace the nights in fleecy cloaks. They also make the bathroom run While they await tomorrows sun.
Posted on: Fri, 16 Jan 2015 21:57:34 +0000