Insomnia by Elaine Edwards

(a rondeau)

The mouse that lives inside my brain
starts running on his wheel again
at night – it’s usually about one
o’clock he wakes and starts to run
and run – it’s always just the same.

The mouse’s feet drive me insane.
They hammer, hammer a refrain
of words unsaid and deeds undone.
The mouse.

By four o’clock he’s getting lame,
His feet slow down – he starts to wane.
He doesn’t like the morning sun,
It’s darkness that provides his fun
Tomorrow night he’ll run again,
the mouse.


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