Dawn is knocking at the door
Peeping through the curtain
I turn, pretend again to snore
But sleep's gone for a Burton

Heavy-eyed I eye the clock
Squint and try to focus
It's not yet gone five o' clock
I lie back feeling hopeless.

How many hours of beauty-sleep
Brain attempts to calculate
Maybe I'll try counting sheep
Running wild, jumping gate.

Must have snoozed off, pretty sure,
I eye the clock again,
Long hands pointing to the four
Short hand to the ten!

Can't be true,
beggar's belief!
I look anew,
sigh with relief,

'Twas the second hand
Now on eleven
And the time?
Twenty past seven.