Rest, Rest for the Writer

by Joan Sowards

All night I tossed and turned in bed,
I couldn't rest my tired head,
For characters and twisted plots
Kept mulling in my midnight thoughts.

I cried, “Come on now, go away.
Can’t this wait until the day?
I have so many things to do
Tomorrow, when the day is new.”

"But did they go away?" you ask.
Not on your life. They stayed to bask
In glory of their veto power
And robbed me of my sleeping hour.

And at the window in the night
A glow—The motion sensor light?
I squeezed my drowsy eyelids tighter,
All the while the light grew brighter.

Oh, grief! It was the light of dawn
And Earth had kept the course she’s on
In spite the loss of precious sleep.
(Results that make this writer weep.)

Oh!—the hours I wasted fighting,
Could've been spent happily writing!