Poem...

Up and down they say,

Is relative to what?

A star is a ball, after all,

And life is meant to be fun.

*
Hair are our aerials, so I heard,

They transmit while we run,

Is there another way to talk?

Or shall we just cut it all off?

*
Wash away the dregs of today,

Into water collated for tomorrow,

This is longer than the first stanza,

Oh well…

*
What is all that is going on here?

Trying to be meta, or clever, I guess,

Nevertheless, what’s done is done,

Here this poem comes to an end.