Ode to Boredom

Since I have nothing to do and the my boredom degree has reached a high level of 9.7, I decided to write a poem about it that would probably bored you to death. Proceed with caution. 

Ode to Boredom

Written by none other than none of your business

*ahem* (That, by the way, has nothing to do with the actual poem but is a gesture stating that you are about to speak. Please ignore it along with this note.)

The tale which I'm about to speak

Once it reaches to it's peak 

You will know it's nothing more 

Than a long and dreadful bore

Oh, ye boredom, ye are tasteless

Like a bowl of oatmeal pasteless

(that, by the way, is not word

but please pretend it was not heard)

Boredom, when ye come again

We are praying for the end

Of this long and dreadful bore

Praying it will come no more

Ye make us tired of doing nothing

Yet we have not strength nor stuffing

So we sit and lay around

Boredom beating us to the ground

What oh WHAT IS THERE TO DO?!?!

Nothing. So we sit and stew.

The end. Based on a true story.