In the quiet of my chamber, at the stroke of ten, I nestled down in sheets, away from all. A meditation so serene, to the dreamland I did keel, Yet by the witching hour, no longer did sleep feel real. Before the clock struck twelve, my eyes did spring, Awake again, to the night's annoying zing. Now here I am, at two AM, my thoughts in disarray, Penning down a verse or two, 'bout sleep that's gone astray. Oh, Insomnia, you fiendish sprite, with your invisible spear, Piercing through my…
