It’s vexing when the body’s frailty,
Which cannot bear a paucity of slumber
Without succumbing to a malady,
Brings symptoms whose diversions will encumber.
For who has time to sleep when there is singing
Be it a Haydn mass or classic jazz,
Or musicals that leave the spirits ringing-
Experiencing fully what one has?
Alas, how easily one runs aground
When unexpected obstacles arise,
And habit makes one simple to confound
By those things more complex than realized.
If only my dismayed, exhausted stare
Could make frustrations vanish into air.