ONE HUNDRED POINTS, pls be honest
can someone make this into a poem


It was a sunny day
My mother asks me every day
Why do you not go and play?
Each time I had no reply
Because I liked watching days go by
The reason is that I feel gray
I feel gray all-day
I never feel gay
I feel as if my body is clay
I want my body to decay
I don’t remember the last time I said yay