The alarm shrills out, with a piercing scream,

It wakes Jane up, from her erotic dream.

She looks at the clock, it shows half past eight,

She jumps out of bed, and her head starts to ache.

She thinks it is Monday; it gives her the blues,

Then starts to dress, and slips on her shoes.

A glance in the mirror, she does look a sight,

From that binge-drinking, they all did last night.

She brushes her teeth, and washes her face,

Hoping her manners, weren't a disgrace

Puts on her make up, and her lip stick too,

"Oh blast it," she mumbles. "That will have to do."

She treads down the stairs, just one at a time,

The hall clock is striking, the hour of nine.

Damn she cries out, "I must have overslept,"

Out of the house, with a flurry she swept.

Her mum shouts out, "Jane why all the rush?"

"I've overslept, and I'm late for the bus."

"You silly girl Jane; I gave you fair warning,

The clocks have gone forward; and it is Sunday morning."

RON BOOTH Ravenshead