Now I lay me down to sleep,
I’m feverishly counting sheep …
Hoping that the perfect number
Rewards me with a dreamless slumber.
Envisioning the sylvan state,
I close my eyes and concentrate
On willing ev’ry fuzzy shape
To leap in order through the gate.
I trust they’ll form a proper queue
And, decorously stepping through
In ranks of three for my review,
Pass by my vision ewe by ewe.
But will they do this? Will they ‘eck!
They’re making me a nervous wreck!
They leap the hedge, and come back round
And thus my counting do confound.
And then they dance! I swear they do!
They link their arms and sashay through …
They buck-and-wing, and twist, and spin,
Each sheepish face a saucy grin …
And while these woolly matrons rumba …
I’ve clean forgot the flippin’ number!
So then I’m back to number one
And wishing I had ne’er begun!
Till, once more, frazzled and forlorn,
I’m wide awake to greet the dawn.