Making Up Rhymes Poem by Phil Soar

Wallowing in mud, was a Hippo
Chewing the cud, was a cow
Counting the sheep in my bedroom
Was making me sleepy right now

Watching the speed of a falcon
And I'm Diving deep down in the sea
Coutning the sheep in my bedroom
Is nothing but boring for me

Making a rhyme up is natural
On nights when the moon is so new
When the moon's on the wane, I go silly
My mind's in a bit of a stew

So I write things unusually stupid
About things that have no sense at all
And nobody tells me to stop it
As I sit on my own and recall

All the cells in my brain have a reason
They absorb what I learn every day
And they spew out these words on the paper
As my fingers type swiftly away

So, if you have bothered to read this
And afterwards, wish you had not
Just remember the moon and it's power
I'm afraid that is all I have got