I'm tired, I'm tired, more then you know
My brain, it knows nothing, just like John snow
Little sleep! Little rest! My eyes grow weak
I wish I could know how to swiftly go
To that land of sleep
My poetry skills are lacking
Around here I'm known for slacking
So now I shall stop my yacking
My bed seems to me attracting
In moments I shall be napping
Bad poems like these are in passing
For them no crowds will be massing
The reader, this poem is harrassing
Now all I'm doing is sassing
This poem on your ears is crashing
Ryhmezone is really quite dashing
In agony you are thrashing
As your ears this poem keeps bashing
They're really getting a lashing!
Though I think this poem is smashing
This poem is flashy, it's flashing
Oh, do hear the ryhmes a-crashing!
Okay, I'll stop. A real post tomorrow!
-Mark
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