AND YOU THOUGHT IT WAS IMPORTANT

Life is a bunch of projects,
Things to do until dead,
An endless potpourri
Of hustle and hurry,
A do this, no do THAT, instead.

I hardly and barely fathom
The meaning of this life.
It’s and endless array
Of prodigious forays
A nettling vexation of strife.

Yet when a long day is over,
After all of my pain,
I go to bed tired,
Have lost all my fire,
Then wake up and do it again.

I want breakfast, lunch and dinner,
And something between to do,
Then my life is fulfilled,
And I’ll be chubby and still
In a plot just over from you.