In the depths of my wit, I sit and sigh,
Wallowing in self-pity, oh my, oh my!
Stuck in the mud of my mind, it’s true,
Oh, the ickiness, the stickiness, what to do?
Feeling unlucky, in a state so sucky,
In this quagmire of thoughts, feeling mucky.
Yearning for a friend to lift me high,
But I’m covered in muck, they’ll pass me by.
“Come on, buck up!” they’ll surely say,
Afraid of the mire, they’ll quickly away.
My friends, they’re picky, not one to dare,
To join me in this muddy affair.
Yet, amidst this gloom, a glimmer of light,
A chuckle escapes, a spark so bright.
For in my wit, I find a way,
To laugh at the mud, to seize the day.
So here I am, in my mucky state,
Embracing the mess, it’s not too late.
For even in the depths of self-pity,
I find the humor, to write this ditty!

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