quickly, before I run, run, run
Greg was here,
and now he's gone.
He left his wife
to carry on.
With bickering kids,
and laundry too.
No wonder I'm becoming
such a shrew.
So, I'm taking a break,
trying to rhyme,
trying to make better use of my time.
The reason, you ask.
Why torture you so?
Why write bad poetry,
to fill you with woe?
I'm not feeling mean,
Or even depressed.
Just way too busy,
which you probably guessed.
{Come back tomorrow. Please. No lame poetry, pinkie swear.}
Comments
i hate matching socks
i hope that your man
returns in his van
and you join him and then the van rocks
You're awesome.