The Poet, On Losing Her Mind, Laments:
Every time I sit to write
Or get some work done – finally!
I find my mind leagues away
In Some Closet – writing poetry.
Mind, won’t you come back to me?
You’re always in Some Closet.
Why’d I even write that poem
About this place, Some Closet?
Well, darn, it’s too late now.
But I wish my Mind would return,