My choice for the
new year is Happy
I won’t do as I’m
told – I’ll grow a bit old –
and avoid things that
make me feel crappy.
My socks will all
match as they lay in the drawers
If a cold I should
get, rest assured you can bet
I’ll sneeze into
my elbow - not yours.
Although it’s a
crime, poems won’t always rhyme
so your tongue it
may stumble as my meter may crumble
and you’re left
with a thought in the air -
I’ll not get
uptight, it will all turn out right
If it don’t, I
doubt I will care.
zc
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