Post-it notes are a breath of fresh air
The remind me that I should care
Of things little and big
Like my dreams of buying a wig

They seem to be the epitome of innocence
But at times, they ooze wicked essence
Intentions are what post-its are about
The truth it is, without a doubt

They look fancy even when stuck to a tree
Or when thrown on top of a pile of debris
When pen touches paper, on its journey does the post-it embark
Like pollen, may it cross the seven seas, stuck to a majestic lark

Post-its in and of themselves are quite sad
'Cause most of them are but reminders of resolutions gone bad
It's existence is nothing short of poetic
Except when used for cheesy love notes; then it's just pathetic