Will He Ever Sleep
Will He Ever Sleep.
I sleep in William Thompson’s room,
he moans and gurgles in the gloom,
I’m often woken with a start
to the deafening thud of my own heart.
Like me, William worked away,
we’d nod in passing when he’d stay.
A man known for his thrifty chat,
alone at mealtimes, always sat.
An untouched breakfast at his chair,
no thumping work boots on the stair,
on holiday, perhaps he’d forgot
To inform the B&B, I thought.
I sleep in William Thompson’s bed,
he doesn’t realise he’s dead.
Five years hence he passed away
and still keeps coming back to stay.
09/12/2016
(Scare Me Good)
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