The Desk Poem by Nicholas Wayde Turner
The Desk
I can't walk around.
I can't even go to town.
This desk is like a prison.
Which makes me even more driven.
I try to work my tail off.
But sometimes I get a little cough.
I work too hard.
So, I hope I get a little card.
This desk is going to be the death of me.
But later I'll pore a cup of tea.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
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4/26/2024 6:09:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
