A poem I wrote to enter a contest, which I never submitted. |
NOTE: I, at one time, believed this poem to be quite funny. Now, a year or so later, I have no idea what I found so funny. Oh, well... I know you asked me to marry you, And when I said no, you asked me why. I can only tell you the truth, I don’t want opportunity to pass me by. Think of all the fun I’d miss, If I were tied down to you. And what of my dreams of wealth, When housework is all I’d do? I must refuse to marry you, Because of what’s best for me, For I wouldn’t want to miss out, On a single opportunity. I hear a knock upon my door, So many times a day, That I’ve learned how to tune it out, And continue on my merry way. It can become quite annoying, The persistent little tapping, Like a pesky little dog, Around my heels, snapping. But as I mentioned earlier, I am terribly used to the rapping, Upon my wooden door, It no longer disturbs my napping. Each knock brings something different, Something I would never normally do, Offering me chances galore, To constantly try something new. “Go away!” I shout, To the little knocks at my door. Only if I hear them, of course, I’ve learned how to ignore. “I don’t want to be rich!” I shout to the opportunity. It fades and soon another comes, I ask, “What do you want from me?” They come in droves or all alone, To knock upon my door of wood. I wonder if they’d go away, If they knew that I never would, Accept their offer of chances. My father said to remain away, From the luring calls of opportunity, That knock upon my door every day. So I sit in my house doing nothing, As the opportunity comes knocking, Upon my battered door of wood, I wonder if I could file a report of stalking? |