Bad Poetry

Twas the night before nothing and all through the house, a creature was stirring...

A dirty little rat.

That Sam I Am was packing for Fort Bragg,

He gave his Mum a hug, took his duffle and bag,

Though he slipped into the night,

for a long, tedious flight,

He had planned his Mum's fright.

For though I forget,

every. single. time.

That Sam I Am leaves a hidden mouse,

Between the sheets, in a fruit bowl, sometimes on the floor.

My scream makes my throat sore,

'Tis a scary little mouse.

every. single. time.

but I still

miss That Sam I Am

every. single. time.