Now I write when I should sleep;
I write so followers I’ll keep.
If I can rhyme before I wake,
Then approbation I will take.

~~~~~

Two souls converged on a bed of wood,
And told each other, “I’m sorry;” both
And; one, rising, sighed with doubt and stood
And looked with as much love as she could
To his messy hair and undergrowth;
Then thought of another, tall and fair,
And how he had tried, her love, to claim,
Because of a black dress she could wear;
Though the dress was gone; pants hung there
Had, to her mind, an effect the same,
And she therefore turned to bed to lay
In satin folds of sheets grey and black.
Oh, if she’d not want another day!
Yet if he’d not shrug; say ’twas her way,
I know he’d not get cold shoulder, back.
I watch and tell ’bout them with a sigh
Somewhere, sometime, and somewhere now hence:
Two souls converged on a bed of wood,
And told each other, “I’m sorry;” both
And that has made all the difference.

©2020 Chelsea Owens

And this is why you go to bed at a reasonable time.