They're waiting for me in the night, on the chance that I awake,
And I'm sure at times I sense they've given the bed a little shake.
And once stranded in the woke-up world, I'm putty in their hands,
At the mercy of their badgering, sleep-sidelining demands.

Concerns I barely gave a thought, on the night-preceding day,
Become like a persistent fly, which I just can't bat away.
And even worse, I'm helpless to do anything about them at this time,
And just why I can't be rational, I can see no reason or the rhyme.

And I know then in the morning, this will seem what it really is,
No different to much else that by day I can sort out in a whiz.
But then I'll be so very tired with barely energy to think,
That I'll not quite end up sorting it, and I'll be back at bothering's brink.