With my sincerest apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson, and God.
Sunset and aged flaw
And clearly one last use!
And may there be no mourning of the bra
When I toss it for refuse.
But such a worn out garment seems as trash,
Too stretched and lost its might,
When throwing it from out the house seems rash
Frayed straps say right.
Twilight and evening sag
Because itself unhooks!
And may there be no looking like a hag
As my bra looks;
For tho’ the gel padding still stays in place,
No flood is the last straw,
I need to find one like it to to replace
When I have tossed the bra.
Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system (it has been nagging at me for days, which I realize makes me perfectly insane), maybe I can concentrate on writing the things I’m supposed to be writing (a primary program, a book chapter, and a Christmas program).