Insomnia Quandary
Three questions ponder I late at night,
In sleepless hours past twilight:
Is my place known in the universe?
If I died now, am I ready for the hearse?
And, Did I put the leftovers in the fridge?
To triple quandry, answers a single bridge:
If Yes, ’tis well with my unsealed fate,
but if No, ’tis already much too late!
So sleep on!, it matters not your wishes,
Leave for the morning the mourning, the dishes.