The Damn Bell Sans Merci Poem by Patti Masterman

I.
What can ail the coming dawn
Although there is no loitering;
The button on the clock has broke-
There's way too many birds singing.
II.
Oh what can ail the sleeper,
Eyes shadowed: night is done,
The squirrels are brisk and bushy-tailed;
Most glad, to see the sun.
III.
I see new wrinkles on your brow,
Your sweat has broken, fever'd too
With reddened cheeks, the morning light
Does there, eschew.
IV.
I met a salesman in the woods
Selling things, with tone so mild;
I wish I had not bought his goods:
They are my trial.
V.
I placed the clock upon the bed,
An it were better than a phone,
To wake me, from the Stygian deeps;
My chronic lateness, to atone.
VI.
I set the clock where I could see
And eagerly await its song,
I knew come morn, the dawn would break-
By it, ere long..
VII.
I lost myself in Viking tales,
And dined on wild radish, and rue,
Certain that sweet vibes would wake,
At mornings cue.
VIII.
I took me to my cushy sheets,
And sunk myself in sleep, full-bore
And then I took my nightly draught-
A fool, times four!
IX.
And then I slept (quite all alone)
With the clock, close by my side,
And dreamed of things you could not know
In dreams, abide.
X.
And dreamed the clock went off as I
Ran off down the longest hall;
The damn bell sans merci-
My ears, it did maul!
XI.
Then I woke to the loudest ring
That my ear-drums, did debride;
The button on the darn thing broke-
And fell inside.
XII.
And that is why I sleep out here,
Breaking rules, by loitering;
The button on the clock has broke-
There's far too many birds singing.