Though it does not look like a lot,

Flow it does eastwardly to where sails a yacht,

Grow this storm, oh please God, must not…

Not such a bad day to drive,

Cot sleeping I would rather derive,

Pot smoking too would be pleasant when home I arrive,

Rot it does my brain, how long would I survive…?

Coastal storm this one has been,

Postal employee’s this storm did bring chagrin,

Nothing more to rhyme with coastal, pass me a gin,

Anything further would wear away my brain, my head within…

© ed ~ 12/5/o5