Poem of the Weak

My head is pounding,
Stale nails, I think. 
My stomach is growling,
Like tigers; I'm so weak. 

I didn't celebrate New Year's Eve,
Drink too much or have to heave. 
I ate right and went to bed early,
So why am I feeling so damn surly?

Didn't want to get out of bed,
Daydreams running my silly head. 
Oh dread.  My Poem of the weak ,
Slipped out—It’s dead!

And so I'm penning,
This poor excuse. 
So much for trying,
What's the use?

Now that I'm finished,
Can crawl back to bed. 
With visions of damsels,
Not classic poems--instead. 
Beautiful woman at a treillis

Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull



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