Waking of the Dead

As I lie sleeping deeply upon my bed
Indulging in rest known only to the dead
There come such awful noises from my head
Which can bring to ruin And cause the fall Of rising bread
Far down the hall Such noises supersonic
Are to my wife not a tonic
But shouts and pushings do not prevail
For alas my snorings continue beyond the pale
And out upon the breeze of night do sail
Causing other poor souls to weep and wail
The poor people of Earth do beg and plead
But the snoring man just pays them no heed
And just as all hope seems forever a loss
The sounds come to a stop with a twist and toss.
And once more upon Earth there is a peace
For Huntington's snores have come to a cease.

(20600006)   Copyright © 10/21/2008 Camp Huntington