Insomnia by Elaine Edwards
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.
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,