You see, it's late at night.
or morning,
call it what you might.
and I can't get to bed,
not without something to write.
I've gotten an urge that I can no longer fight.
It's to write a short poem with words that rhyme.
And I'm not too sure if that last word fits right.
But if you read my old posts, you'd see that
it never stopped me from writing what I like.
Now I'll tell you about my day,
with rhythm and pride
It started off when I was put in a plight.
I was washing my hair when the water had died.
Apparently, the water pump had spoiled
and it couldn't go up the pipe.
I gave myself a fright,
when it hit me with might
that I may not be able
to shower that night.
And the rest of the day was uneventful.
goodnight.
