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Midnight Madness

I want to write a poem
but I've now’t to write about,
so I listen while I'm thinkin’
to the things that people shout.
"I'm tired" shouts out my mis’s
"and I want to go to bed!"
so I'll end this bloomin’ poem
and go **** my wife instead.

Now that's not like our Ivor
he is never, ever rude.
He's the only one we know of
who is never, ever crude.
Maybe he’s finally lost it,
is it ‘cause he works too hard,
should we ban his contributions
and show him a yellow card?

But, I only want attention,
as I can't think what to write,
so I thought I'd shock my readers
with a little bit of ****.
I can't bring myself to write it
for I seldom ever swear
and although the words are simple
they not one’s I usually wear.

It's a curse to be a poet
when you've not a blinking clue
why you’re penning trash at midnight
when you've better things to do.
When the choice is sex or rhyming,
there's no question which will win…
So I'll love you now and leave you
while I go and get it in!

Ivor G Davies

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