Last night I wrote a poem in bed
When
I was half asleep.
It
sounded great inside my head
(And
sure beat counting sheep!)
But
in the middle of the night,
All
cozy ‘neath my blanket,
My
body didn’t want to write;
I
thought that I could bank it.
The
mind, however, won’t retain
A
close-to-slumber musing.
It
would be best, then, to refrain
From
anything but snoozing.
So
when I woke, not one sweet rhyme
Was
left for me to scribble.
A
notebook by my bed next time?
With
that, I will not quibble.
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