The Wasted Hour (Poetic form of Jeffrey Archer's, 'The Wasted Hour')
It was the month of May,
On a bright summer day,
Kelley was walking to her university,
Looking for someone to chat with.
She saw an old man driving his car swift,
Maybe willing to give her a lift.
She signalled him to stop,
And at once, he came to a halt.
She asked for his permission,
That he gave without any hesitation.
She sat by his side,
Looking to find something interesting about his life.
The man was called John,
And most of his life was gone.
Kelley asked him about his past,
She thought that it must be vast.
As a student, he studied at Stanford University,
And read books of different variety.
Literature was his subject,
That made him rather upset.
So, he got flunked out,
And was sent to scout.
He kept...
On a bright summer day,
Kelley was walking to her university,
Looking for someone to chat with.
She saw an old man driving his car swift,
Maybe willing to give her a lift.
She signalled him to stop,
And at once, he came to a halt.
She asked for his permission,
That he gave without any hesitation.
She sat by his side,
Looking to find something interesting about his life.
The man was called John,
And most of his life was gone.
Kelley asked him about his past,
She thought that it must be vast.
As a student, he studied at Stanford University,
And read books of different variety.
Literature was his subject,
That made him rather upset.
So, he got flunked out,
And was sent to scout.
He kept...