Wrote about Life. Was sadly mistaken.

Stabbed by pen, poison ink kills.

There was once a worm named Herby Who was always ever so squirmy So much so that every day His friends would all say Hey Herby! The Wormy You're so Squirmy!

Sad writer has lost her words.

I have a monster under my bed. Who I think is not very well fed Cause every night while I sleep I am sure that he tries to eat my feet And every morning when I rise He talks to me, I think he lies He tells me he didn't try to eat me But there's slobber to my knee And when I point this out to him He said it must've been his friend Jim Whom he had for a visit last night And who stayed till the morning light But if what he says is the truth Why is my sock stuck to his tooth?