A Little Sty

In the mirror I closely stare
In horror I spot a little sty
Though ’tis no cause for a sigh
Yet to bleed it dry
Pain cringes me at making a try
But the disposition to grind
To ease the itch so ply
Tormenting me to commit crime
Laying my hands so brine
For a squeeze on the sly
Yet so advised not to pry
For a disfigured sight to cry
‘Tis a kind of sty
That makes one’s temper fly
Yet to make it look mild
So quietly let it slide
And soon it shall tide
Never will you mind
A sty so fine

©Derrick Lim


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