Drip, Drip, Drip
Drip, drip, drip,
I hear drops on the ceiling,
Now to the shed and another trip
Another chore that’s no too appealing.
The night is young and I am restless.
My mind is planning the next day’s work.
If it rains I will have an excuse,
And, if it stops?
Oh, what’s the use.
So where do I start?
Copyright © Raymond Westley | Year Posted 2012
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