One night,
I started to count sheep,
In hopes that I could get a wink of sleep.
The white clouds of fluff would jump over the fence,
As I counted.
Even though I reached a hundred sheep,
I laid awake.
And now,
The claws of insomnia killed all my sheep,
Leaving the once green field,
Painted in red.
And as I mourned their deaths,
I swore to never try to fall asleep.
For insomnia might do something worse,
Than killing innocent sheep.
YOU ARE READING
Epigrams
PoetryIt appears you've found my book and before you decide to read it's contents, know that... These poems are everything that is me. (Also the cover was made by my buddy FierroThorne!)
