I cannot write a poem today
Because the weather isn’t quite right
It would really be a fight
To write a poem when the weather isn’t right.
I cannot write a poem today
Because I am feeling so sore,
My back aches, hands cramp—oh mercy, no more!
Oh no, I simply cannot write with everything all sore.
I cannot write a poem today
Without my cup of tea
I’m thirsty and cross, you see,
Without my cup of tea.
I cannot write a poem today
Because the floors are creaky
And the door is drafty, and the roof—I fear—is leaky.
No, no, I cannot write today while the floors are creaky.
I cannot write a poem today
Because the mail is coming,
Surely when the doorbell rings the sound will send me running.
Oh, I cannot write a poem when the mail is coming.
I told you, and I’ll say again
Why I cannot write not now or then;
I cannot write a poem today
Because of the stormy clouds,
My body’s sore,
and without my cup of tea,
the creaky floors,
and then mail well on its way.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
I cannot write a poem today
Because the weather isn’t quite right
It would really be a fight
To write a poem when the weather isn’t right.
I cannot write a poem today
Because I am feeling so sore,
My back aches, hands cramp—oh mercy, no more!
Oh no, I simply cannot write with everything all sore.
I cannot write a poem today
Without my cup of tea
I’m thirsty and cross, you see,
Without my cup of tea.
I cannot write a poem today
Because the floors are creaky
And the door is drafty, and the roof—I fear—is leaky.
No, no, I cannot write today while the floors are creaky.
I cannot write a poem today
Because the mail is coming,
Surely when the doorbell rings the sound will send me running.
Oh, I cannot write a poem when the mail is coming.
I told you, and I’ll say again
Why I cannot write not now or then;
I cannot write a poem today
Because of the stormy clouds,
My body’s sore,
and without my cup of tea,
the creaky floors,
and then mail well on its way.
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