This page, you'll be relieved to find
Has way too much on its wee mind
That's why it is so far behind
On kaiku

Should take the car to the garage
Or maybe get a good massage
But next week is looming large
So, sleep

Saturday went by really fast
Barely here, and now it's the past
I just can't make the weekend last
*poof* gone

One more we think we can bake up
Partly, to, um, kinda make up
And a bit of slack to take up
Okay?

One more to go and we are done
Then we must—really—have to run
Into that bloody awful sun
To work

So why is it that we did shirk?
It wasn't just some arbit quirk
Our back was out, and we had work
Honest!

Three poems behind! Alas! Alack!
Get this monkey offa my back
At least give it a bloody whack
Begone!

Music may soothe a savage breast
But for the demons in our chest
Silly rhyme, bad puns and low jests
Work best

Grouchy, tired and headachey
Shall quaff a cup of Munnar tea
And write some lousy poetry
There. Better.

If, perchance, you don't like cricket
Boy, you're on a sticky wicket
Get a bucket, lad, and kick it
You're dead