Not quite awake

A sonnet

Photo by William J Spirdione

I feel so tired, I fell asleep again.
The page is blurred, my head fell off my neck.
Not me, I said, me snore? I must begin.
The words come slow. The work, I’ll do a speck.

I hope my face won’t hit the desk again.
To finish work, I must think deep and dig.
At times…