Swishing rain obscures the window
As the cars drive past below me
My eyes are tired and my head,
And my book is open, but unread.
It's Sunday and I meant to study,
But the words just blurred.

Beginning to write this poem
As I sat both tired and alone,
I wondered about its rhyme
And I decided in a short time
That I wasn't very clever at all
As couldn't even do this.