8th Word-a-day donated by Muhammad Abdullah Hamzah

My Sense of Being

I have a sense of being
Sadly taken ill
So I leave it in the sunshine
Right on my windowsill
I feed it milk and chicken soup
I hear it makes things better
It’s not allowed outside without
A great big itchy sweater
It always takes its medicine
And gets a good night’s sleep
I make sure it always wears clean socks
And its bedroom’s nice and neat

But after weeks of trying
My sense of being’s still quite sick
I hope that it’s not dying
My chicken soup won’t do the trick
I had a sense of being
But now its lost its sense of smell
I can tell you my sense of being
Still isn’t very well

I have a sense of being
But I awoke to find one morning
My sense had already woken up
While I was still there yawning
It was running round the landing
And climbing on the stairs
Hiding in the cupboards
And jumping on the chairs
It was drinking all the cola
And eating all the fruit
It was playing with the sat-nav
And planning out a route
At this point I had to intervene
Because I found it too bizarre
When my sense of being stole my keys
And tried to nick my car

I have a sense of being
It’s really part of me
But sometimes me and being
Don’t get on too well – you see?

I have a sense of being
But it had a ‘”nasty fall”
And I can tell you my sense of being
Isn’t doing well at all