I'm too tired to write a poem
I'll forget words e'en though I know 'em
My brain is ready to get some sleep
So bugger off, muse -- you little creep!
Uh oh -- now I've gone and made her mad
She reminds me of the times we've had
My muse and me, we've write some fine things
Are you happy? No -- she still yet sings.
Leave me for now; I need to go home
instead of writing verse in this tome
Even my rhymes are starting to slip
in quality, so let's call it quits.