It’s almost twelve, and what to do?
I’ve counted sheep (well, wouldn’t ewe?)
The ticking clock compounds my woe:
Never miss a local story.
I’m wide awake, yet hours flow.
And in the darkness come “the dreads”
(The worries of the day ahead)
With worries: how much worse I’ll be
To get no sleep — it’s after three!
My enemy, the clock, will scoff
Until at last I’m dozing off.
For fifteen minutes, sleep is mine…
Till clock’s alarm chirps: Rise and shine!
Don Munday, email@example.com