I must apologize (again) for my last poem
Not its fault; poor thing, of course.
I must apologize (again), for my last poem
For sorrow; like tea, is drunk in many sips.
Not its fault, poor thing, of course.
It didn't know any better.
It has an eight-year old's grasp of technique,
I blame the mobiles and the telly,
I must apologize (again) for my last poem
Not its fault; poor thing, of course
I should have known better;
As a man or a mouse,
And had no business,
In squeaking up now.
YOU ARE READING
My Papi's Mid-life Crisis
RandomI'm forty two and in danger of falling through the cracks of mediocrity; also known as a midlife crisis. I don't drive, so I can't buy a fancy car to fix it. I love my wife, so I can't have an affair with another woman. This book is part of my attem...
