My eyes are tired, I stifle a yawn,
I contemplate going to bed,
But will I sleep until the dawn,
If on my pillow, I now put my head.
It is past midnight, the witching hour,
In fact, it is almost two,
A time when all should be in bed,
Instead of writing poems for you.
I’ll watch TV for a while,
Catch up on some Soaps videoed,
But in front of the box, I’ll fall asleep,
And miss all I wanted to view.
Perhaps I’ll have a Nightcap,
My usual tipple, for a drink,
But then more words will come to mind,
Quicker and more often, I think.
How can I stop these words
Filling my mind in verse,
Writing poems line by line,
With rhymes that get worse and worse?
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 28 December 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem