Sleep is a fickle friend
We never can agree
On exactly when and where to spend our time together.
Sleep is a fickle mistress
When I want to share my bed
She never seems to share my mood
She chooses instead
To bother me at work, or when I've just made other plans
She seems to know how quickly I'll give in to her demands.
We spent a lovely weekend
Just the two of us alone
And though I didn't see another soul all day
By nightfall she had vanished
Simply gone away too soon
And I'm stuck here writing poetry about her
One day I'll have her for my own
One day she'll never leave
But she'll be disappointed in the end
In truth that day will be my last
And so the story goes
About my ever fickle mistress-friend.