Here I lie upon my bed
With the ceiling hanging over my head
And there it sit my favorite spot
That I stare at all for naught
When for all the counting of the sheep
Does nothing but keep away the sleep
The ever turning and toss
Is for nothing but loss
Of the ticking of time
For soon the clock does chime
And there hasn't been even a peep
Of one little snore of sleep
Pie
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I am serving a couple slices of pie for The Husband and myself. I pepper
him with several questions like, "Do you want yours on a plate or in a
bowl?" and ...
1 week ago
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