Don't Drink Bees

When I was small and couldn't sleep,
My mother told me to count sheep.
The woolly beasts began to come,
And I would count them one by one.

I used my fingers, then my toes.
I even thought to use my nose,
But the line just wouldn't end,
So I used my hands again.

My ten fingers were quite sore
When Mother peeked around my door
And found my eyes still open wide.
She shook her head and then she sighed.
"Sweetie, did you even try?"
"Yes. One thousand sixty-five."

"And I have much more to do
There's another hundred twenty-two
Squeezed inside that closet tight.
I think this job will last all night!"

Mother said, "No more sheep.
Let's try another trick to sleep."
She corralled the remaining beasts outside
And I wished them all a pleasant night.

Then she turned to me with a sigh
"Let's give this sleeping another try.
Tell each body part it's night,
Time to rest 'til morning light.

"Work your way up from your toes,
And by the time you reach your nose,
You should have fallen fast asleep.
This might work better than counting sheep."

Mother closed my door once more,
Hoping soon she'd hear a snore,
As I busied myself with my new task
Of making body parts relax.

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