I have reached an age where I don’t sleep
A lot, she said, except perhaps a little
After lunch, or sometimes in the morning
While I wait for that Norwegian girl
Who comes to do my plants and pots and pans
And brings me those old fashioned custard tarts.
And when she leaves I might just close my eyes
To take a moment’s rest, or two, before
I start another chapter of this book.
I will sit up and read all night, you know,
As I have reached an age where I don’t sleep
Except perhaps a little, after lunch,
Or sometimes in the morning, while I wait.