When friends sit around, with thoughts in a haze,
They craft funny lines that might seem quite absurd,
Their flow is like smoke, lost in a daze.
With munchies in hand, they giggle and gaze,
At the paper now twisted, each word is a blur,
When friends sit around, with thoughts in a haze.
A rhyme for the ages? Or just a strange phase,
“What rhymes with ‘orange’? Wait, is that a furred?
Their flow is like smoke, lost in a daze.
With laughter and snacks leading them through the maze,
They read lines aloud, feeling quite like a spurred,
When friends sit around, with thoughts in a haze.
They ponder on life, and the universe’s plays,
“Like, does a potato ever want to be stirred?”
Their flow is like smoke, lost in a daze.
In the end, they’ll forget their profound wordy praise,
But one thing is clear: their bond is assured,
When friends sit around, with thoughts in a haze,
Their flow is like smoke, lost in a daze.
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
