If I kept the words in order would my efforts be in vain
Maybe dig a trap so deep that to escape I’d need a crane
Maybe failure would wound me deeply so I’d always wear a scar
I pondered this, and other thoughts while driving in my car
Concentrating on rhyme and meter, a verse began to form
Distraction made me overlook signs of a coming storm
Until my windscreen was lit by a sudden flash of yellow
And I was brought back to the present by the thunder’s angry bellow
So I gave up on that idea, It was just as I feared.
The task would be too great, and the result, no doubt, too weird