While I was typing here last night,
I had an odd 'sensation',
of someone standing next to me,
reading my quotation.
I did not dare to look around,
I feared a ghastly sight,
I could not sit here all night long,
I'd been here half the night.
I figured if I didn't look,
and did not turn around,
the "thing" whatever it might be,
would leave without a sound.
Work, work, work - my fingers flew,
I had to finish quickly,
the story I was workign on
was really something sickly.
The murderer was almost caught,
and I realized as I wrote
How this nosy creature here
could easily be smote.
The story had to end up strong
I shot him in the head....
What happened to 'sensation'?
Perhaps that's now who's dead.