Sleepless Memory

Well, I stayed up till the wee hours because my mind refused to allow me to sleep. It happens more these days, and I believe it is a by-product of age.

While reading, then later listening to music on my cellphone, I recalled a bit of a song I heard many times as a five and six-year-old child. As I remember, it is bluesy, sung by a man with a deep froggish voice.

What song it is, where it comes from, who sang it, and whether recalling it right or bastardizing the lyrics are questions I took to searching for until after 3 a.m.

I know a woman, but she, she don’t like me
I know a woman, but she, she don’t like me
I know a woman, o how I wish she loved me

I never found an answer to those questions, and those words remain locked in my head like a treasured memory.