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.
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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.
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For me - preparation for bed was hard;
Shoes and trousers removal left me scarred.
Extraction from my trousers was the aim
Yet I lacked balance and then lost the game;
Moments before I\'d been ready for sleep,
But crashed to the floor in a one legged heap…
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Now I don’t sleep in my bed anymore;
Winter makes undress too much of a chore.
Instead a large armchair owned forty years
Provides me with a night’s sleep free of fears.
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It’s raw invigorating and primal
To leap up fully clothed after sleep’s final
Departure and confront the day, no pause;
So perhaps this above all is my first cause.