Sir Sleep is not too well in my control.
He does what he himself would wish to do.
Each night I hope anew for dream's patrol
To lead me to my rest the whole night through.
But when I crawl between the sheets at night
It is wild thoughts, which fill my head jammed full.
I tell myself "relax!" but get uptight.
I count some sheep, seek dreams like soft lambswool.
I try the light switch on and then switch off,
I toss, I turn, my sheets are all a'twist.
Sir Sleep just sits and laughs and soon he'll scoff,
And then ev'ry sleeping effort he'll resist.
That old rascal's left me in a tired heap!
And then before I know it I'm asleep.
Ian Wetherbee/Feb 3, 1999