The sun sets over the weary hills
And the yellow fields and dark hedgerows
And rows and rows of horizons piled up
One by one, one by one

The night is still, the air is still
The clock ticks, and ticks, and the birds
They are not singing yet, but they will, they will
The hours are slow for the living now

And through my weary eyes I see
The sun rise unwillingly
And know another night has gone, and
Again, and again, sleep won't come,
The birds sing, and the night is gone.

Mina Harker

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/insomnia-145/