I haven’t slept well for a dozen years
The reasons are vague and mysterious
Bad sleep taps into my primitive fears
I’m scared that I’ll soon be delirious
I used to think it was due to the noise
The sirens whiz by on our street
But noise doesn’t seem to bother the boys
Their sleep is so deep it’s a treat
The sheepdogs retire at nine o’clock
Twelve years old, they’re both getting creaky
I hoist each one up like an eighty-pound rock
I hope they don’t view me as geeky
In bed the dogs are a pleasing sight
They’re such an adorable pack
Mike’s handsome head is snowy white
While Duffy’s right ear is jet black
Mike’s forty inches from nose to tail
And Duffy’s exactly the same
The bed’s seventy-eight from rail to rail
Such small space for dogs is a shame
The humans climb in with a sense of dread
Katja lies on her side on a slant
I scrunch up my knees with my feet off the bed
The dogs would make room but they can’t
Duffy then rests his head on my calf
While Mike leans on top of my back
So heavy and warm I’m prompted to laugh
Though I feel like I’m pinned to a rack
The dogs begin dreaming at two a.m.
They’re chasing the squirrels on the lawn
Their legs are twitching at a high r.p.m.
These dreams keep on going till dawn
Our room often smells like dog perfume
Especially when fur’s wet from rain
Sometimes a dog makes a gaseous fume
We stop breathing and pray it will wane
Thankfully the dogs don’t bark through the night
Instead they make whimpers and moans
It’s hard tell if it’s sadness or fright
With dogs there are lots of unknowns
In closing, insomnia’s a mystery
The sheepdogs sleep perfectly fine
We share the same bed, the same history
I’ll have to start drinking more wine
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