Sunday sunday

It's 8:48 and not really that late
But I find it hard to rhyme, when it's so close to nine.
I still need to worry about getting the kids to bed on time.

It's not that worlds will collide, or buildings will tumble,
the problem is finding the girl's bed, in her messy jungle.

The boy on the otherhand is organized, and tidy.
Althought that doesn't make him all sweet and smiley.
He is continuing to brew bugs from there to here,
I think the latest one has settled inside of his ear.

I can not be for certain that this is just so.
Although it appears to be very red, and seems to glow.

Time is ticking, as the husbandman paces,
in time to attend to the chicklet bed races.

Time is ticking it's 8:58
Bed time is something where I shouldn't be late.