Long day was long, and now I’m flagging.
This poem is already late;
My stomach hurts, my back is sagging,
I’m not in a poetic state.
The brain is blank of inspiration;
The bed, a constant warm temptation.
The yawns are getting worse with time,
Hence this self-referential rhyme.
At least it’s keeping with traditions:
Along with “Spring” and “I Got Dumped”,
“Alas, My Motivation’s Slumped”
Is meat and drink to rhetoricians.
You know you’ve made it when your curse
On how you can’t compose is verse.
In Scotland today visiting J’s family. Long day was long.
April is now over, but as I have poems to make up I shall be carrying on.