The Inkwell

Woken up by waterworks

On the mark of quarter to five

Kept awake by the familiar sound of

Excited cats finding food on the

Night prowl

Unless my head hits the

Pillow soon, i won’t be good to anyone

As pins and needles bite my feet

Golden slumbers seem far away

Aching bones rest on a thousand pocket springs

In a vain attempt I’ll sleep through the rest of

Night time