I couldn’t think of a rhyme for “singe,”
My thoughts are scattered, feeling quite unhinged.
I aimed to be clever, to craft something slick,
But my poetic skills feel burnt, thick, and quick.
In my mind I searched, through shadows and light,
Hoping to find a word that felt right.
Yet all that I found were echoes of lack,
No dashin’ good phrases, just a dim track.
So, I’ll wrap up my poem with a humorous quip,
Hoping you liked it, despite any blip.
For poetry’s journey is often a race,
And sometimes we stumble but still find our place.
M.A.D. Works 