I couldn’t do it anymore.
All silliness was drained.
Sobriety and seriousness
No longer was constrained.
It truly was a tragedy,
The ditty well run dry.
No wafts of whimsy wackiness
And waffle pie in sky.
So now I wear a daily frown
With concentrated scowls.
I stare up at the monthly moon
Emitting wolfy howls.
© Copyright Philip Barton, July 5th, 2025 All rights reserved
