A Busy Day Poem

Work before fun they do say.

Yet a working man tires away.

Do not play do not stray,

Such a shameful display,

Just work ’till you drop, okay?

 

Yet a feeling of pride emits,

From those who dare not call it quits.

Whether one stands or one sits,

Or the end of one’s whits,

Pride from work is what one gets.

 

Thus starts our poor boy on his quest.

To finish his work and then rest.

His fate he’ll detest,

Yet if he confessed,

He’d tell you hard work is the best.

 

Yet one day our poor boy ran amiss.

For a young girl did blow him a kiss.

A kiss? Did she miss?

Was this some form of diss?

All hopes from his head he’d dismiss.

 

Yet now she came over, what luck!

What business had she with some schmuck?

As closer she snuck,

His heartstrings she plucked,

So nervous, he thought he might cluck!

 

“I like you young boy, yes I do.

I wonder, do you like me, too?

This love could be new,

Just me and just you,

We’d look on in awe as love grew!”

 

The boy was both happy and shocked.

It seems that his love boat was docked.

His heart now knocked.

He nervously rocked.

Then his truest smile did unlock.

 

“Your words have pierced through my heart.

Like a beautifully sung piece of art.

My love I’ll impart,

Let this be the start,

Let our passion never let us part.”

 

She blushed and she held out her hand.

It seemed their life would expand.

She could barely stand,

Her legs turned to sand,

And she fell to the ground unplanned.

 

Our boy lifted her in his arms.

It seemed he still had all his charms.

He’d protect her from harms,

This young boy who farms,

He’d protect her when she sound alarms.

 

I wrote this small poem on to you now,

Like a limerick but not, oh wow!

I do solemnly vow,

Though I don’t quite know how…

Tomorrow’s writing will be ’bout a cow.

 

 

 

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