Hope it is not Edgar Allen Poe
Come knocking at my door
Wanting to rewrite Annabelle Lee
Sitting on the couch beside me?
Is all this of my own making?
Or are the leaves really shaking
With a congratulatory eloquence
Filling me with a silent turbulence
Killing me with vibrant remembrance?
Is it some headless horsewoman on the prowl?
Or a skulking creature’s gigantic growl?
Ah, why can’t I sleep?
Is it due to the shenanigans of the Grim Reaper?
Maybe I should stop counting sheep
And breathe deeper?
The birds trilling on the window sills
No longer chirp, they have closed their bills
Do the trees not feel sleepy?
Ah, these nocturnal sounds are creepy!
Sleep, o sleep where art thou?
Have I angered you but how!
I cannot bear this ruthless disdain
Honestly, it gives me immense pain
I can tell you why the caged bird sings
But, alas, not why this sleeplessness to me clings!
Sleep, do not avoid me with a tedious tenacity
But Whip me with a furious ferocity.
Oh, how I wish I could sleep tonight
To get up by tomorrow, rejuvenated and bright.