The Howling Ow
All pain is relative, it seems;
Sometimes it stings, sometimes it screams.
Sometimes it teases, as in bumps,
While other times it fashions lumps.
A bug bite here, jammed finger there:
These little “owies” I can bear.
A boil, a scrape, a bruise, a scare,
A trip, a fall - ka-boom, don’t stare!
A toothache; toe-stub; itchy eye;
A splinter; lips with sunburn-fry.
Smoke in my eyes – gah-zing, a spark;
A campfire’s vicious in the dark!
Watch out: oh no, not that! KA-KLUNK.
The closet shelves just might rain junk.
Raw, bleeding cuts, and crashes, too,
They’re all part of owie-stew.
But … there’s another sort of “ow,”
That I’ve not mentioned until now.
A first-time “ow” that snuck up fast,
To grab and punch and spit and sass.
I clear my throat, I yawn and blush.
Before I tell you … hush-shush-shush.
Embarrassing, a painful thing,
I hate to say it; feel it sting.
This week I misread “ow!” as “owl”
And wrote an entry – call a foul!
The goof was found on the last night
Before our entries come to light.
The pain was sharp: “Ah, balderdash!”
A stupid mess, a writing gash.
Through snarls I howled with wolfish chills,
As if those sounds would offer thrills.
Alas, I only felt quite worse –
The “ow” was deep; my feelings terse.
I sat down hard and shook my head.
“What will I do?” I meekly said.
Then I re-wrote, with tongue in cheek,
“The Howling Ow” for this “ow!” week.
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