Then born again in the morning.
I lay my head down and pray to sleep,
But the thoughts come without warning.
I take to iambic pentameters
Like Johnny Cash took to his black.
All my poems will now officially end
With “brekka koaxx koaxx,”
And, “He found his oilcan gone.”
He heeee heeeeee!
-jenn long
No comments:
Post a Comment