Creature of the Night

The calendar's ruthless march takes a toll
and each year there's less vinegar to piss.
Yet maturity may prove sweetly droll
and that I will accept in lieu of bliss.
That major muscle group bombast of youth,
wherein the vinegar was the fuel,
had me so embarrassingly uncouth
you'd have been better off with a mule.
Now, sometimes, towards the end of a day
that inelegant vigor seems misplaced.
Time is no captain's order to belay
and so, what I have left I must not waste.
     Therefore, of slumber, a sonneteer must care. must be midnight somewhere!
Written by MidnightSonneteer
Author's Note
August 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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