Bad days end
And worse ones begin
You drown out the noise
To sink in the din
Dinner's tepid soup
And sorry sprouts
The new pizza place
Is nowhere about
Sick of the hassle
You leave the flat
And almost collide
Into a big, white cat
You don't look too good
And are tired to the bone
'Even I wouldn't drag you,' thinks tabby,
A wannabe Sharon Stone
Its black and inky and dark outside
How befitting of you, the mind decides
You strech your neck, and there!
It's clear as a bubble where hope resides
'All of us are in the gutter
But some are looking at the stars,'
How did you guess, Mr. Wilde?
You were a wise man, by far
4 comments:
I always look at the stars. I never realised I was in a gutter all the time.
I suppose you haven't been checking your email?
Hi Hyde,
Nope. Haven't got around to checking email. Shall reply to you before Friday.
By the way, read 'Lady Windermere's Fan', if you can. The quote is from there. Until later then. :-)
...and some of us are wishing for shooting stars :))
Wilde's a tony poet. maybe he's from pune or chattisgarh
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