is the day,

when poems are au fait

well, that’s what they say;

and, anyway,

I’m going to write one, okay?


It might not be the best,

better than all the rest,

will go to work barely half-dressed,

and a little stressed,

but it’s a poem for all that –

but, I think that you might have guessed.


The rhyme scheme is naff,

it’s one at which you’d laugh

if you were a serious poetry paragraph,

as it took me all of a minute and a half.


Don’t worry, it will be ending soon,

and, like the pop of a big balloon,

the noise it makes is similar to that of a rather large Racoon

howling at the cheesy Moon.

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