Nox the Nixie
                        By Rob S. Rice

Each night posed in my blankets like a dolphin in the deep,
I start my lengthy courtship of that flighty lady, Sleep.
I offer every blandishment or gift she could demand,
But, coquette to the marrow, still she scorns my outstretched hand.

I go through relaxation drills, all measures of that ilk,
I drink her health and mine with cups and gallons of warm milk,
I've eaten turkey sandwhiches, and read (yecch!) modern lit,
And every time I think she's close, she's just about to flit.

"Oh fair one, come to me," I cry, "And fill my lonely bed."
"Let your gentle bosom soothe a strained and aching head."
"Throw your arms around me, dear, and calm me when I fret."
And then I think of something ELSE that I can't seem to get!

I've courted her with all the pleasant thoughts that I can think,
I've even (shameful tactic!) tried to make her yield with drink.
And all I get are headaches and a chain of wearied screams.
I'm held to waking nightmares--she won't allow me dreams.

It may not be just her hard heart behind the hours I've missed.
Sirens, dogs, and car alarms endeavor to assist.
Bogeymen imagined, real, a host of horrid things,
Strike me when at THREE A.M. the phone or doorbell rings.

She's farthest off when wanted, but then comes close to flout me,
Smiling icily to say, "You can't get on without me!"
And she is right, the sneering, smiling, double-dealing witch!
A woman's but a woman, but a good night's sleep's a b___h.