I found a strange appendage, long and large and warty
Hanging ’round my business, sorting dirty laundry.
“Who goes there?” I cried, fearing some loathsome beast.
Don’t mind me, the creature smiled, I’m having a great feast.
You do know, it continued, your life is quite a mess,
Of politics, and feelings hurt, and choices, not the best
When at your age you should be content to sip your lemonade.
Your hair, your style–too bold, and your ways, unstaid.
Slow down, you’re old; and your actions too frenetic.
And face it, girl you should by now be feeling apologetic.
Why waste what time you’ve got on earth writing all the time,
When sad to say you haven’t gained the necessary skill of rhyme.
The creature paused to take a breath, and finally I saw
It was just a pathetic nose above a gaping maw.
“Scat, you boogery old snot locker,” I said.
“Keep out of my business. Worry over yours, instead.
And like any good bully, away that nose did skulk
To lick his wounds and have himself a good self-righteous sulk.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 