Insomnia

I am a dreadful sleeper, it's a fact I can't deny.
The sandman never sprinkles any sleep dust in my eye.
My duvet is my enemy. It creeps about the bed
And leaves my tootsies bare and cold whilst smothering my head.
My oh, so comfy pillow, at the stroke of midnight's bell
Suffers a transformation to the sack of spuds from hell.
And when did I eat toast in bed? I'm sure I feel a crumb
Lying on the sheet in wait to stab me in the bum.
I hear a stealthy rustle from the corner of the room
And hold my breath in terror as I scan the fearsome gloom.
Is it a mouse? A cockroach? Or something much, much worse -
An evil, ghastly spectre from an ancient family curse!
By now it's almost four a.m., five hours since I turned in.
Soon the wretched blackbirds will start their morning din.
Then - bliss! I feel sleep drifting up. Perhaps a dream or two...
Alas, my slumber's not to be. I need the wretched loo!