[This is what happens to me when a mild case of insomnia strikes, it’s much easier than counting imaginary sheep.]
One, somehow now we have everything but fun
Two, and to every question raised we say, “No clue”
Three, we silently wonder who the first to leave might be
Four, as we are aware there may not be something more
Five, we can not remember who poked the beehive
Six, because when we did it, it was ‘just for kicks’
Seven, we ask ourselves “What would be the reason”
Eight, “to try again before it’s to late”
Nine, is it the times we say yes rather than decline?
Ten, or the broken things we manage to mend?
Eleven, and each time we learn our lesson
Twelve, we can only wish for more time to delve.
Fitz-Simmons, my heart breaks for you.