Sleepless In Cornwall U.K.
Help! I'm submerging beneath waves of words.
It's three in the morning in Cornwall U.K.
I'm meant to be sleeping, but rest just disturbs
The march of the Muse on poor sleepless Fay!
I've counted sheep vaulting countless barred gates,
Tossed, turned, then bored in my untidy bed
Sleep flown, now the Muse begins and dictates
Rhythms and metres to my sleepy head,
So, bolstered with coffee plus paper and pen
I resist the compulsion no more.
I scribble, erase, then scribble again.
Nothing emerges, and now it's past four!
What made me think I could ever write rhyme?
I know! - just for fun I'll post this on line! !
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