This is what happens when I write stories at 1 AM.
I pick up my pen to try once again,
at this story that will not be written.
The words will not fly, whatever I try,
Yet by a plot bunny I've been bitten.
Thanks to mrspencil, for assuring me I can write poetry.
After my day of treating the sick,
I come upstairs and light my wick,
Open my book, wherever it falls,
And write of adventure, of one who knows all.
Stories and stories, no lack of cases,
A brilliant detective, the dangers he faces,
I, his chronicler, there by his side,
Watching for danger, where'er it may hide.
Together we stand, together we're strong,
Fighting the felons, righting the wrongs,
With all of our ventures, wherever we go,
Troubles are sure to follow, you know.
I close my book, and head to my bed.
No more writing tonight, but sleep instead.
I fall into bed, and soon I'm asleep,
To dream of adventure, and mysteries deep.
