Getting up at 7:00 on a Saturday
Is the fate that awaits yours truly.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to
If I were a guy Dale Chihuly,
But I’m not an artist of fortune
Thus I cry “alack and alas!
“I’ve found my calling in bad poetry
When the real money’s in blowing of glass!”
So while my fate of rising early
Is sealed, as justly it should
At least I take heart in the knowlege
That the stakea are low if this poem ain’t good.