Bored

I am quite bored,
and so I write
a poem with no wit.

I am quite forward,
and so I cite
the time I take to sit.

I cry out, "Lord,
I want a flight
if only for a bit."

He answers, bored,
"In sleep you might
fly just a little bit."

Will you be floored,
If you the sight
of me by spotlights lit?

Because I soared,
At quite some height,
'til out of bed I git.