For the man he never sleeps
And we hear every moment
For every moment the floor creaks
Every change of diapers
And every child's weaps
And he must drive typing as he speaks
Good poetry gives up the tries
For to continue to write isn't wise
And to be found as number one
Is for me no longer fun
So you may have this as your personal diary
and I give up trying to get critiques
For I well be number ten before the ink dries