without sleep

The air is getting cooler
But still I cannot sleep,
I’m feeling somewhat fooler
In dreams I cannot sneak,
Counting sheep is of no aid
As I stare at the ceiling,
So I turn my thoughts to cascade
Some rhymes that are appealing,
I think about your pictures
And easy comes the muse,
For rhyming the right mixture
And get away the blues,
I spend some time to write them
So when the morning comes,
I’ll send them as anthem
An ode it becomes.