I was looking for a winter poem
That I’d already written.
I looked back through my archives
And read rhymes old me was spittin’.
Apparently I’m cynical
And full of twists and turns
And wrote more words like “Dumbass”
Than “yuletides” or “yearns”.
This Winter I’ll aspire
To be merrier than that,
But Winter’s in December
So for now yo mama’s fat.
The Daily Travesty 