Twenty four hours contain potentialities abound, twenty three pairs make us memorable. A catch twenty two with no relief around, twenty one could be hard to handle. Twenty, and now were keeping score, since nineteen ended the teenager. From eighteen on, just whats in store? Seventeen syllables, a haiku that starves the manger. Sweet sixteen marks a millstone. Fifteen ends and the future is on the horizon. Fourteen marks a sonnet, and thus can condone the songs of innocence to end on thirteen all alone. Twelve divides the hours that we epitomize. Eleven is the symbol of wealth. After ten, and eleven subside, we dress to the nines, and drink to our health. Eight seconds left on the clock Seven with few seconds to spare. The six left arent enough to talk but five are enough to tear. So, on all fours, I scream the three words I thought you wanted. And as the final two escape you blush, my one and only, undaunted.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Oct 2013 07:57:25 +0000
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