MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Gentle Face by Christine Catalano

Table of Contents

Poetry


The Late Riser's Complaint

Harry Craft

Whenever the sun with his bright golden rays
Arrives in the East to bring light to the sky
And add to the infinite series of days
Another, on which I must once again try
To shake the last vestige of sleep from my eye,
I groan and I stretch and reluctantly creep
From my bed, then I stretch and I yawn and I sigh,
“I never am able to get enough sleep!”

Whenever I try in the morning to raise
My somnolent form from the bed where I lie,
I wish that I weren’t a night owl that stays
Awake all the night ‘til dawn colors the sky.
But the crisp evening air, so seductive and sly,
Conspires to lure me away and to keep
Me up, till, come morning, I feel I could die—
I never am able to get enough sleep!

Thus every weekday I’m off in a haze,
No matter how hard I attempt to be spry.
My time’s not my own, for the company pays
By the hour, and so I must sit down and ply
My trade as the wearisome minutes plod by.
But still, as my head droops, I wish I could seep
Back home to my bed, and I silently cry,
“I never am able to get enough sleep!”

Envoi

When my time at last comes and I peacefully lie
Forever enclosed in a sepulchre deep,
On the headstone: “At last he will nevermore cry,
‘I never am able to get enough sleep!’”




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