Undercover of the night I type away in sheer delight,
My subterfuge does not bode well, for end of days when called to tell
This poet’s heart can ne’er be stayed whilst Doctors, Nurses, are betrayed
Compositions less verbose, in rhyming verse or simple prose
If found out, they’ll pull the plug and I will cease to have my drug
“What say you” should I cease to be, no tiny spark of electricity
'Resistance may be futile' thus ensconced, in current state of negative response
If signals 'free to air' will help me breathe, they may still yet provide a last reprieve
My screen at once would spring to life, what’s more, no cables dangle to the floor
New ‘Cloak and Dagger’ expertise, may free a sonnet in reprise
Give Haiku wings, as my heart sings
Oh to be a "Warbler" flying free |
