Nightshift Workers Lament

a poem by William Willis, Scotland

The silver sword of morning piercing through my window frame.
It's light now skipping round my room , its driving me insane.
With eyes closed tight, this lights now dancing on my blackboard slate.
Whiteness wildly wandering through my huddled blinkered state.

I hear muffled sounds of kids at play , but it seems so loud and clear.
A distant ping of church bells ring , another hour drawing near.
A mother's heels , an old pram's wheels as both go scuttling by.
A pigeon's wings , a jackdaw sings as both take flight and fly.

I feel helpless , i feel restless as the church bells tolls again.
Let the votes be cast for sleep right now but my soul it will abstain.
Bright winter snow then summer sun, play hostage ...'neath my quilt.
Ignorant rains taps window pane , does it really have no guilt.

My senses are like driftwood , as my minds it ebbs and flows.
I think i'm dropping off to sleep , as my poor old heart-rate slows.
My eye-lids docked and anchored at the bottom of my bunk.
Todays the day INSOMNIA has been well and truly sunk.

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