Bed: it’s where I go to sleep;
yet lay there counting lots of sheep,
then sheep, more sheep, and yet more sheep;
until… I dream, my dreams are deep,
or I’m a Mary Poppins’ chimney sweep;
sometimes, in dreams,
I swim the deep,
or buy a castle, mine to keep;
fly a spaceship, ‘Receiving… beep!’
Bed: also for other things,
which things to myself I’ll keep.
I lay, uneasy, in my bed,
the words of a poem
running through my head;
I have to rise and write them down,
before I can head to Sleepsville Town.
Three ten
in the a m
and I should be fast asleep;
but, no, I’m not,
for I am slow awake.
I’ve tried counting sheep;
but, I ran out of fingers –
too many sheep;
not enough fingers;
I tried counting fish..,
fingers!
I tried using my toes,
still not enough.
So I am sticking to counting
unicorns and dragons –
I’ve limbs enough for those.
◦
The distant sound of traffic on the A35 accompanies me as I seek the land of Nodd; and, though I seek in vain, I know that I am not alone in this quest. Many souls lay awake and contemplate the world passing by outside of their little peace of haven.
A chill has risen that is so at odds with the heat of the daylight hours that it seems unreal; just a memoir of a cool spring that was, or an autumn that is yet to arrive.
Soon, I shall strive to regain the dream state that is eluding me. Soon, I hope, my date with far off combustion engines will be over and we can bid each other “G’night!” before we have to greet each other with the “Mornin'” that signals another battle lost, another restless, restive night that brought little in the way of rest.
