There once was a lady named Singer
Whose day was such a humdinger
She wrote on her blog
Although in a fog
The last thing to do was to linger.
Her feet and her arms and her head
Gave impressions she'd have to be led
Away up the stairs
For her only cares
Were how fast she could get in her bed.
And so Gentle Reader of mine
Do not think me so very unkind
If I should rush off
Please don't sit and scoff
It's my bed that I'm hoping to find.