Full Circle Poem by Sebastian Seal

Nighty-night,
Sleep tight,
And don't let the bed-bugs bite.

That's what the elders told,
When I was tired and cold,
And my blanket had been sold.

I was reminded of it,
While combing a nit,
Which leapt onto my nose and bit.

So I thought I'd write a poem,
About the comb,
Or my bed's mattress of loam.

This poem is taking all day,
I don't know what to say.
It's sort of losing its way.

It's hard work writing this,
The words are hit-and-miss,
This line takes the bis...-cuit.

I'm getting stuck for a rhyme,
I'm running out of time.
Writing poetry is an uphill climb.

My nit is falling asleep,
On my nose In a heap,
And his snoring is creep...-y.

That's another bad line,
I think it's a sign,
That this poem is mine.

I'm running out of talent,
This poem is simplistic excrement.
It needs an adiaphorous anacoluthia accompaniment.

That's easier said than done,
Maybe I could use a pun,
That would be more fun.

I'm in danger of writing a cliche,
With little cachet,
Which is so passe.

My nit is snoring like a train,
I'm tired just the same.
And so is my little brain.

To bed it's time to flit,
I'll leave the poem to some other twit,
And so I say to my nit...

Nighty-night,
Sleep tight,
And don't let the bed-bugs bite.