My muse is like a secret lover --
who only visits late at night.
There’s magic from this witty author --
but, I’m too tired to think or write.
His midnight chatter has me reeling.
Should I get up and write this down?
Will I awake tomorrow rambling --
or not recall one word or sound?
He tickles me with lively banter
from countless tales of make-believe.
Does he not know I need my slumber?
I think my muse must be naïve.
While words of wisdom he’s imparting,
my eyelids fall like dominoes.
But, at first light, ,when I am ready --
he’s disappeared – like pantyhose.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem of any type that makes your reader laugh. |
Author Notes
Have you noticed that no one wears pantyhose anymore? Not the morning show ladies, news or weather reporters or women on the Red Carpet. Not at weddings or funerals - not teenagers or grandmas. It seems we have gone from tanning beds to spray tanning, leggings or yoga pants. What is a girl to do with a drawer full of pantyhose?
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