Looking at the note pad, lying on the floor.
Writing this poem, you read on my wall.
Glaring at the clock has become such a bore.
Oh my, Oh my, it is well past four.
Thoughts of sleep, will rear its ugly head,
As the love of words come out of me like
Insomnia which robs me blind,
Most nights, as I lay in bed.
Closing my eyes, about to fall asleep.
Hooray! I'm drifting away, great.
Until sudden realisation hits me.
That the whole world,
is wide awake.