Yes, it is another miss.
Though I could blame the time it is,
I remembered at twelve and some
And strictly told myself I'm done.
The time is past, it is too late.
You are now on miss number eight.
As clock strikes twelve, it's a new day.
There's no excuse that you can say.
You had that many hours or more,
So no wheedling or being sore.
It's sad that while the year is not half gone
I've missed as many as I did the last one.
Call me a slacker; I won't deny.
I'll do better, that is, I'll try.
(Hey, at least I did better at the poem-writing. And it's even later than it was. Just goes to show that sometimes people exaggerate the effect that tiredness has on them. You can overcome it if you really want to. Usually.)
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