She's going to think up a poem
From the top of her head.
Forgetting that,
Guess she'll daydream instead.
She hears a car honking
An angry blare.
And dreadfully ponder
Possible tragedies there.
Her neighbor walks by,
This time makes four.
She ponders again
About the outfit she wore.
She feels the warmth of the breeze
And the rays of the sun
And inspect a spider spinning
A web 'til it's done.
Her daydreams are wasteful,
The day now she's blown.
It's probably too late
To get back to her poem.