Nonsense poems are hard to write
believe me, I've tried...
We're sitting in a room,
in comes the broom,
it begins to sweep,
the dust makes me weep,
then comes the mop,
oh! please stop,
why are you so keen,
on making the room clean,
oh, what a chore,
cleaning is such a bore,
and now you've disturbed my sleeping,
with your irritating sweeping.
∼ Utsa, Mahati, Anshika
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