My grandmother owned an old alarm clock
Its main attribute was its fine tick-tock.
Seriously – it had no further features -
No alarm to waken, nor others…
What about?....no, not even just a hand
Or two. Its shabby face said nothing, bland.
----------
And so every night she lovingly wound
This battered companion for, yes, its sound.
And Morpheus called in minutes she claimed,
Although when she explained he wasn’t named.
-----------
For me - preparation for bed was hard;
Shoes and trousers removal left me scarred.
Extraction from my trousers was the aim
But lack of balance meant I lost the game;
Moments before I was ready for sleep
I crashed to the floor in a one legged heap…
--------
Now I don’t sleep in my bed anymore;
In winter it’s just too much of a chore.
Instead a large armchair owned for forty years
Provides me with a night’s sleep free of fears.
---------
It’s raw invigorating and primal
To leap up fully clothed after sleep’s final
Departure and confront the day, no pause;
And perhaps this above all is my first cause.