An Ode to Procrastination

A little something I wrote last summer about 40 minutes before a creative writing class:

Why did I wait?
Until it was too late;
To write a poem,
Here alone,
Surrounded by books
Toiling in the nooks.
When I look down,
I read you and frown.
Though I love you dearly,
I can see it clearly:
You’re half-baked at best,
Last-minute like the rest.

~ Me

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