Nick Sherman



Stirring after sleeping too long

Next to his place of work

Others have a drive to their employment

But he only needs to put on a shirt


This disorienting task is done in the cold

with little hope in personal might

Though the morn is when the day breaks

for hours the house remains night


And there he sits, reading an old religion

just stooped over in his chair.

But from across the room he sees a figure

its the Sandman with a sleepy lulling stare.


Get back vile creature!

Bristles the man at bay.

I know I’ve got to do this

No one is wishing you would stay!


All he thinks about is counting sheep

the Sandman with his toothy yellow grin

He keeps many from waking early

He toils so that our days may not begin