[Roger Slater]

I've done a longer version, but I'm not sure the extra lines are worth it:

Before I lay me down to slum
in winter, fall, or spring or summ,
I bow my head, and feeling humb,

I raise my prayers to God in Heav,
for whom I have the greatest rev,
and say, "I trust you Lord, whatev

you're cooking up, a curse or bless,
and yet I have a small confess
I might as well get off my ches:

I wouldn't mind some health and mon,
and if, dear Lord, I may be blun,
a loin more fruitful than a bunn,

a fine career capped by longev,
and far more decades than just sev.
A happy life, in short. Whatev."