In the midst of the night a young girl lies in bed staring at the dark ceiling, Hearing the sweet snores of many making sleep sound so appealing, As she closes her eyes in envy of the others, Her random thoughts peek mischievously from out of the covers, Her tired mind they invade, And her precious sleep time they selfishly raid, So in order for her to get back the time that her thoughts took, She reluctantly decided to write a book, But what oh what would a book be named, If it was so great that it would keep her thoughts tamed, "The Random Thoughts Of A Bad Poet " what an unusual title, Though some may not understand it she thought the name was vital, For a "Bad Poet" she was and this she knew, And how to structure a stanza or rhymes she had little to no clue, But how oh how could her thoughts be conveyed, If she had no courage for the words to be relayed, So despite her bad poetry a book she would still write, Because nothing else could save her from her thoughts in the dead of the night, And to whomever comes across this book at least they will know it, That these are just "The Random Thoughts Of A Really Bad Poet"